II 111    ill™ 


ESSAYS 


BY 

RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON 


FIRST  SERIES 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


I  am  owner  of  the  spueM, 

Of  the  seven  star*  and  the  solar  y««r, 

Of  Ceesar's  hand,  and  Plato's  brain, 

Of  Lord  Chi  ist's  heart,  and  Shakspeare's 


CONTENTS. 


ESSAY  I. 

PAOB 

.       5 

ESSAY  H. 

ClinT  -n  T?T?r  T  A  'Wr'n* 

MELF-KEliIAWCJfi 

ESSAY  in. 

COMPENSATION 

ESSAY  IV. 

Ctn-rTft-rmrr  A  Y      T    A  WQ 

oPIBITUAiJ  IjAWo 

ESSAY  V. 

,     89 

ESSAY  VI 

.    101 

ESSAY  TO 

T>»» 

ESSAY  vm. 

.    199 

ESSAY  IX. 

THE  OVER-SOUL 

*          •          •          •           • 

.    141 

ESSAY  X. 

CIRCLES              • 

...••• 

.    159 

ESSAY  XL 

INTELLECT     • 

•          •••»• 

.    178 

ESSAY  XIL 

A§*    •.     j*  " 

jL   t            »        • 

•    ^* 

HISTORY. 

•Xb«re  is  no  great  and  no  sma& 
To  the  Soul  that  maketh  all: 
And  where  it  cometh,  all  thmgr  M 
And  it  cometh  even*  wfcere. 


ESSAY  t 
HISTORY, 


THERE  is  one  mind  common  to  all  individual  men. 
njan  is  an  inlet  to  the  same  and  to  all  of  the  same.  He  that 
is  once  admitted  to  the  right  of  reason  is  made  a  freeman  of 
the  whole  estate.  What  Plato  has  thought,  he  may  think ; 
what  a  saint  has  felt,  he  may  feel ;  what  at  any  time  has  be- 
fallen any  man,  he  can  understand.  Who  hath  access  to  this 
aniversal  mind,  is  a  party  to  all  that  is  or  can  be  done,  for 
this  is  the  only  and  sovereign  agent. 

Of  the  works  of  this  mind  history  is  the  record.  Its  genius 
is  illustrated  by  the  entire  series  of  days.  Man  is  explicable 
by  nothing  less  than  all  his  history.  Without  hurry,  without 
rest,  the  human  spirit  goes  forth  from  the  beginning  to  em- 
body every  faculty,  every  thought,  every  emotion,  which  be- 
longs to  it  in  appropriate  events.  But  always  the  thought  is 
prior  to  the  fact ;  all  the  facts  of  history  pre-exist  in  the  mind 
as  laws.  Each  law  in  turn  is  made  by  circumstances  predom- 
inant, and  the  limits  cf  nature  give  power  to  but  one  at  a  time. 
A  man  is  the  whole  encyclopaedia  of  facts.  The  creation  of  a 
thousand  forests  is  in  one  acorn,  and  Egypt,  Greece,  Rome, 
Gaul,  Britain,  America,  lie  folded  already  in  the  first  man. 
Epoch  after  epoch,  camp,  kingdom,  empire,  republic,  democ- 
racy, are  merely  the  application  of  his  manifold  spirit  to  the 
manifold  world. 

This  human  mind  wrote  history  and  this  must  read  it.  The 
Sphinx  must  solve  her  own  riddle.  If  the  whole  of  history 
is  in  one  man,  it  is  all  to  be  explained  from  individual  experi- 
ence. There  is  a  relation  between  the  hours  of  our  life  and 
the  centuries  of  time.  As  the  air  I  breathe  is  drawn  from  the 
great  repositories  of  nature,  as  the  light  on  my  book  is  yielded 
by  a  star  a  hundred  millions  of  miles  distant,  as  the  poise  of 
my  body  depends  on  the  equilibrium  of  centrifugal  and  cen- 
tripetal forces,  so 'the  hours  should  be  instructed  by  the  ages, 
and  the  ages  explained  by  the  hours.  Of  the  universal  mind 
each  individual  man  is  one  more  incarnation.  All  its  proper- 
ties  consist  in  him.  Every  step  in  his  private  experience 
flashes  a  light  on  what  great  bcnlies  of  men  have  done,  and 

(6) 


•  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

the  crises  of  his  life  refer  to  national  crises.  Every  revoiutftM 
was  first  a  thought  in  one  man's  mind,  and  when  the  same 
thought  occurs  to  another  man,  it  is  the  key  to  that  era. 
Every  reform  was  once  a  private  opinion,  and  when  it  shall  be 
a  private  opinion  again,  it  will  solve  the  problem  of  the  age. 
The  fact  narrated  must  correspond  to  something  in  me  to  be 
credible  or  intelligible.  We  as  we  read  must  become  Greeks, 
Romans,  Turks,  priest,  and  king,  martyr  and  executioner, 
must  fasten  these  images  to  some  reality  in  our  secret  experi- 
ence, or  we  shall  see  nothing,  learn  nothing,  keep  nothing 
What  befell  Asdrubal  or  Caesar  Borgia,  is  as  much  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  mind's  powers  and  depravations  as  what  has  be- 
fallen us.  Each  new  law  and  political  movement  has  meaning 
for  you.  Stand  before  each  of  its  tablets  and  say, '  Here  is 
one  of  my  coverings.  Under  this  fantastic,  or  odious,  or 
graceful  mask,  did  my  Proteus  nature  hide  itself.'  This  rem-. 
edies  the  defect  of  our  too  great  nearness  to  ourselves.  This 
throws  our  own  actions  into  perspective  :  and  as  crabs,  goats, 
scorpions,  the  balance  and  the  waterpot,  lose  all  their  mean- 
ness when  hung  as  signs  in  the  zodiac,  so  I  can  see  my  own 
vices  without  heat  in  the  distant  persons  of  Solomon,  Alcibi- 
edes,  and  Catiline. 

It  is  this  universal  nature  which  gives  worth  to  particular 
men  and  things.  Human  life  as  containing  this  is  mysterious 
and  inviolable,  and  we  hedge  it  round  with  penalties  and  laws. 
All  laws  derive  hence  their  ultimate  reason,  all  express  at 
last  reverence  for  some  command  of  this  supreme  illimitable 
essence.  Property  also  holds  of  the  soul,  covers  great  spirit- 
ual facts,  and  instinctively  we  at  first  hold  to  it  with  swords 
and  laws,  and  wide  and  complex  combinations.  The  obscure 
consciousness  of  this  fact  is  the  light  of  all  our  day,  thf 
claim  of  claims  ;  the  plea  for  education,  for  justice,  for 
charity,  the  foundation  of  friendship  and  love,  and  of  the 
heroism  and  grandeur  which  belongs  to  acts  of  self-reliance. 
It  is  remarkable  that  involuntarily  we  always  read  as  superior 
beings.  Universal  history,  the  poets,  the  romancers,  do  not 
in  their  stateliest  pictures, — in  the  sacerdotal,  the  imperial 
palaces,  in  the  triumphs  of  will,  or  of  genius,  anywhere  lose 
our  ear,  anywhere  make  us  feel  that  we  intrude,  that  this  is 
for  our  betters,  but  rather  is  it  true  that  in  their  grandest 
Strokes,  there  we  feel  most  at  home.  All  that  Shakspeare 
says  of  the  king,  yonder  slip  of  a  boy  that  reads  in  the  cor- 
ner, feels  to  be  true  of  himself.  We  sympathize  in  the  great 
moments  of  history,  in  the  great  discoveries,  the  great  resist* 
ances,  the  great  orosperities  of  men;— because  there  law  wa* 


E18TOBY.  f 

,  the  sea  was  searched,  the  land  Was  found,  or  the 
blow  was  struck  for  MS,  as  we  ourselves  in  that  place  would 
have  done  or  applauded. 

So  is  it  in  respect  to  condition  and  character.  We  honor 
the  rich  because  they  have  externally  the  freedom,  power  and 
grace  which  we  feel  to  be  proper  to  man,  proper  to  us.  So  al 
that  is  said  of  the  wise  man  by  stoic  or  oriental  or  modern 
essayist,  describes  to  each  man  his  own  idea,  describes  his  un« 
attained  but  attainable  self.  All  literature  writes  the  charac- 
ter of  the  wise  man.  All  books,  monuments,  pictures,  con- 
versation,  are  portraits  in  which  the  wise  man  finds  the  linea- 
ments he  is  forming.  The  silent  and  the  loud  praise  him,  and 
accost  him,  and  he  is  stimulated  wherever  he  moves  as  by 
personal  allusions.  A  wise  and  good  soul,  therefore,  never 
needs  look  for  allusions  personal  and  laudatory  in  discourse. 
He  hears  the  commendation,  not  of  himself,  but  more  sweet, 
of  that  character  he  seeks,  in  every  word  that  is  said  concern- 
ing character,  yea,  further,  in  every  fact  that  befalls, — in  the 
running  river,  and  the  rustling  corn.  Praise  is  looked,  horn- 
age  tendered,  love  flows  from  mute  nature,  from  the  mount- 
ains and  the  lights  of  the  firmament. 

These  hints,  dropped  as  it  were  from  sleep  and  night,  let  us 
use  in  broad  day.  The  student  is  to  read  history  actively 
and  not  passively  ;  to  esteem  his  own  life  the  text,  and  books 
the  commentary.  Thus  compelled,  the  muse  of  history  will 
utter  oracles,  as  never  to  those  who  do  not  respect  themselves. 
1  have  no  expectation  that  any  man  will  read  history  aright, 
who  thinks  that  what  was  done  in  a  remote  age,  by  men 
whose  names  have  resounded  far,  has  any  deeper  sensa  than 
what  he  is  doing  to-day. 

The  world  exists  for  the  education  of  each  man.  There  is 
no  age  or  state  of  society  or  mode  of  action  in  history,  to 
which  there  is  noi  somewhat  corresponding  in  his  life.  Every 
thing  tends  in  a  most  wonderful  manner  to  abbreviate  itself 
and  yield  its  whole  virtue  to  him.  He  should  see  that  he  can 
live  all  history  iu  his  own  person.  He  must  sit  at  home  witk 
might  and  main,  and  not  suffer  himself  to  be  bullied  by  kings 
or  empires,  but  know  that  he  is  greater  than  all  the  geography 
and  all  the  government  of  the  world ;  he  must  transfer  the 
point  of  view  from  which  history  is  commonly  read,  from 
Rome  and  Athens  and  London  to  himself,  and  not  deny  his 
conviction  that  he  is  the  Court,  and  if  England  or  Egypt 
have  any  thing  to  say  to  him,  he  will  try  the  case  ;  if  not,  let 
them  forever  be  silent.  He  must  attain  and  maintain  that 
lofty  sight  where  facts  yield  their  secret  sense,  and  poetry 


ESSAYS. 

and  annals  are  alike.  The  instinct  of  the  mind,  the  purpota 
of  nature  betrays  itself  in  the  use  we  make  of  the  signal  naf' 
rations  of  history.  Time  dissipates  to  shining  ether  the  solkS 
an 2' Clarity  of  facts.  No  anchor,  no  cable,  no  fences  avail  to 
keep  a  fact  a  fact.  Babylon  and  Troy  and  Tyre  and  eve3 
early  Rome  are  passing  already  into  fiction.  The  Garden  dig 
Eden,  the  Sun  standing  still  in  Gibeon,  is  poetry  thencefor* 
ward  to  all  nations.  Who  cares  what  the  fact  was,  when  w? 
have  thus  made  a  constellation  of  it  to  hang  in  heaven  an  ic> 
mortal  sign  ?  London  and  Paris  and  New  York  must  go  tb^ 
same  way.  "  What  is  History,"  said  Napoleon, "  but  a  fab!,; 
agreed  upon  ?  "  This  life  of  ours  is  stuck  round  with  Egypt, 
Greece,  Gaul,  England,  War,  Colonization,  Church,  Court  - 
and  Commerce,  as  with  so  many  flowers  and  wild  ornament 
grave  and  gay.  I  will  not  make  more  account  of  them.  . 
believe  in  Eternity.  I  can  find  Greece,  Palestine,  Italy, 
Spain,  and  the  Islands, — the  genius  and  Creative  principle  o 
each  and  of  all  eras  in  my  own  mind. 

We  are  always  coming  up  with  the  facts  that  have  moved 
us  in  history  in  our  private  experience,  and  verifying  them 
here.  All  history  becomes  subjective ;  in  other  wort's,  there 
is  properly  no  History ;  only  Biography.  Every  soul  must 
know  the  whole  lesson  for  itself — must  go  over  the  whole 
ground.  What  it  does  not  see,  what  it  does  not  live,  it  will 
not  know.  What  the  former  age  has  epitomized  into  a  for. 
mula  or  rule  for  manipular  convenience,  it  will  lose  all  the 
good  of  verifying  for  itself,  by  means  of  the  wail  of  that  rule. 
Somewhere  or  other,  some  time  or  other,  it  will  demand  and 
8nd  compensation  for  that  loss  by  doing  the  work  itself.  Fer- 
guson discovered  many  things  in  astronomy  which  had  long 
been  known.  The  better  for  him. 

History  must  be  this  or  it  is  nothing.  Every  law  which  the 
state  enacts,  indicates  a  fact  in  human  nature ;  that  is  all 
We  must  in  our  own  nature  see  the  necessary  reason  for  every 
fact, — see  how  it  could  and  must  be.  So  stand  before  every 
public,  every  private  work  ;  before  an  oration  of  Burke,  before 
a  victory  of  Napoleon,  before  a  martyrdom  of  Sir  Thomas 
More,  of  Sidney,  of  Marmaduke  Robinson,  before  a  French 
Reign  of  Terror,  and  a  Salem  hanging  of  witches,  before  a 
fanatic  Revival,  and  the  Animal  Magnetism  in  Paris,  or  in 
Providence.  We  assume  that  we  under  like  influence  should 
be  alike  affected,  and  should  achieve  the  like  ;  and  we  aim  to 
master  intellectually  the  steps,  and  reach  the  same  height  or 
the  same  degradation  that  our  fellow,  our  proxy  has  done. 

All  inquiry  into  antiquity,— all  cariosity  respecting  tae 


HISTORY.  it 

pyramids,  the  excavated  cities,  Stonehenge,  tne  Ouio  Or  *e8,, 
Mexico,  Memphis,  is  the  desire  to  do  away  this  wild,  sj^age 
and  preposterous  There  or  Then,  and  introduce  in  its  place  the 
Here  and  the  Now.  It  is  to  banish  the  Not  me,  and  supply  the 
Me.  It  is  to  abolish  difference  and  restore  unity.  Belzoni 
digs  and  measures  in  the  mummy-pits  and  pyramids  of  Thebes, 
until  he  can  see  the  end  of  the  lifference  between  the  mon- 
strous work  and  himself.  When  he  has  satisfied  himself,  in 
general  and  in  detail,  that  it  was  made  by  such  a  person  as 
himself,  so  armed  and  so  motived,  and  to  ends  to  which  he 
himself  in  given  circumstances  should  also  have  worked,  the 
problem  is  then  solved ;  his  thought  lives  along  the  whole 
line  of  temples  and  sphinxes  and  catacombs,  passes  through 
them  all  like  a  creative  soul,  with  satisfaction,  and  they  live 
again  to  the  mind,  or  are  now. 

A  Gothic  cathedral  affirms  that  it  was  done  by  us,  and  not 
done  by  us.  Surely  it  was  by  man,  but  we  find  it  not  in  our 
man.  But  we  apply  ourselves  to  the  history  of  its  production. 
We  put  ourselves  into  the  place  and  historical  state  of  the 
builder.  We  remember  the  forest  dwellers,  the  first  temples, 
the  adherence  to  the  first  type,  and  the  decoration  of  it  as  the 
wealth  of  the  nation  increased ;  the  value  which  is  given  to 
wood  by  carving  led  to  the  carving  over  the  whole  mountain 
of  stone  of  a  cathedral.  When  we  have  gone  through  this 
process,  and  added  thereto  the  Catholic  Church,  its  cross,  its 
music,  its  processions,  its  Saints'  days  and  image- worship,  we 
have,  as  it  were,  been  the  man  that  mad«  the  minster ;  we 
have  seen  how  it  could  and  must  be.  We  have  the  sufficient 
reason. 

The  difference  between  men  is  in  their  principle  of  associa- 
tion. Some  men  classify  objects  by  color  and  size  and  other 
accidents  of  appearance;  others  by  intrinsic  likeness,  or  by 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect.  The  progress  of  the  intellect 
consists  in  the  clearer  vision  of  causes,  which  overlooks  surface 
differences.  To  the  poet,  to  the  philosopher,  to  the  saint,  all 
things  are  friendly  and  sacred,  all  events  profitable,  all  days 
holy,  all  men  divine.  For  the  eye  is  fastened  on  the  life,  and 
slights  the  circumstance.  Every  chemical  substance,  every 
plant,  every  animal  in  its  growth,  teaches  the  unity  of  cause, 
the  variety  of  appearance. 

Why,  being  as  we  are  surrounded  by  this  *ll-creating  na- 
ture, soft  and  fluid  as  a  cloud  or  the  air,  should  we  be  such 
hard  pedants,  and  magnify  a  few  forms  ?  Why  should  we 
make  account  of  time,  or  of  magnitude,  or  of  form  ?  The  soul 
knows  them  not,  and  genius,  obeying  its  law,  knows  how  to 


IB  EMERSON'ct  S88AT&. 

play  with  them  us  a  young  child  plays  with  greyuc*»ras  and  in 
churches.  Genius  studies  the  casual  thought,  and  far  back  in 
the  womb  of  things,  sees  the  rays  parting  from  one  orb,  that 
diverge  ere  they  fall  by  infinite  diameters.  Genius  watches 
the  monad  through  ail  his  masks  as  he  performs  the  meten> 
psychosis  of  nature.  Genius  detects  through  the  fly,  through 
the  caterpillar,  through  the  grub,  through  the  egg,  the  con- 
stant  type  of  the  individual ;  through  countless  individuals 
the  fixed  species ;  through  many  species  the  genus ;  through 
all  genera  the  steadfast  type  ;  through  all  the  kingdoms  01  or- 
ganized life  the  eternal  unity.  Nature  is  a  mutable  cloud, 
which  is  always  and  never  the  same.  She  casts  the  same 
thought  into  troops  of  forms,  as  a  poet  makes  twenty  fables 
with  one  moral.  Beautifully  shines  a  spirit  through  the  brute» 
ness  and  toughness  of  matter.  Alone  omnipotent,  it  converts 
all  things  to  its  own  end.  The  adamant  streams  into  softest 
but  precise  form  before  it,  but,  whilst  I  look  at  it,  its  outline 
and  texture  are  changed  altogether.  Nothing  is  so  fleeting  as 
form.  Yet  never  does  it  quite  deny  itself.  In  man  we  still 
trace  the  rudiments  or  hints  of  all  that  we  esteem  badges  of 
servitude  in  the  lower  races,  yet  in  him  they  enhance  his 
nobleness  and  grace  ;  as  lo,  in  JSschylus,  transformed  to  a 
cow,  offends  the  imagination,  but  how  changed  when  as  Isis  in 
Egyp^  ifee  meets  Jove,  a  beautiful  woman,  with  nothing  f 
the  metamorphosis  left  but  the  lunar  boras  as  the  splendid  or- 
nament of  her  brows. 

The  identity  of  history  is  equally  intrinsic,  the  diversity 
equally  obvious.  There  is  at  the  surface  infinite  variety  f 
things;  at  the  centre  there  is  simplicity  and  unity  f  cause. 
How  many  are  the  acts  of  one  man  in  which  we  recognize  the 
same  character.  See  the  variety  of  the  sources  f  our  infor. 
mation  in  respect  to  the  Greek  genius.  Thus  at  first  we  have 
the  civil  history  of  that  people,  as  Herodotus,  Thucydides, 
Xenophon,  Plutarch  have  given  it— a  very  sufficient  account 
of  what  manner  of  persons  they  were,  and  what  they  did. 
Then  we  have  the  same  soul  expressed  for  us  again  in  their 
literature;  in  poems,  drama,  and  philosophy:  a  very  com- 
plete  form.  Then  we  have  it  once  more  in  their  architecture^ 
• — the  purest  sensuous  beauty, — the  perfect  medium  never 
overstepping  the  limit  of  charming  propriety  and  grace. 
Then  we  have  it  once  more  in  sculpture, — "  the  tongue  on  the 
balance  of  expression,"  those  lorms  in  every  action,  at  every 
age  of  life,  ranging  through  all  the  scale  of  condition,  from 
god  to  beast,  and  never  transgressing  the  ideal  serenity,  but 
«  convulsive  exertion  the  liege  of  order  and  of  law.  Thus» 


HISTORY,  11 

of  the  genius  of  one  remarkable  people,  we  have  a  fourfold 
representation, — the  most  various  expression  of  one  moral 
thing  :  and  to  the  senses  what  more  unlike  than  an  ode  of 
Pindar,  a  marble  Centaur,  the  Peristyle  of  the  Parthenon, 
and  the  last  actions  of  Phocion  ?  Yet  do  these  varied  exter- 
nal expressions  proceed  from  one  national  mind. 

Every  one  must  have  observed  faces  and  forms  which,  with 
out  any  resembling  feature,  make  a  like  impression  on  the  be 
holder.  A  particular  picture  or  copy  of  verses,  if  it  do  no' 
awaken  the  same  train  of  images,  will  yet  superinduce  the 
same  sentiment  as  some  wild  mountain  walk,  although  the  re- 
semblance is  nowise  obvious  to  the  senses,  but  is  occult  and 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  understanding.  Nature  is  an  endlesa 
combination  and  repetition  of  a  very  few  laws.  She  hums  the 
old  well  known  air  through  innumerable  variations. 

Nature  is  full  of  a  sublime  family  likeness  throughout  her 
works.  She  delights  in  startling  us  with  resemblances  in  the 
most  unexpected  quarters.  I  have  seen  the  head  of  an  old 
sachem  of  the  forest,  which  at  once  reminded  the  eye  of  a 
bald  mountain  summit,  and  the  furrows  of  the  brow  suggested 
the  strata  of  the  rock.  There  are  men  whose  manners  have 
the  same  essential  splendor  as  the  simple  and  awful  sculpture 
on  the  friezes  of  the  Parthenon,  and  the  remains  of  the  ear- 
liest Greek  art.  And  there  are  compositions  of  the  same 
strain  to  be  found  in  the  books  of  all  ages.  What  is  Guido's 
Rospigliosi  Aurora  but  a  morning  thought,  a«  the  horses  in  it 
are  only  a  morning  cloud.  If  any  one  will  but  take  pains  to 
observe  the  variety  of  actions  to  which  he  is  equally  inclined 
in  certain  moods  of  mind,  and  those  to  which  he  is  averse,  he 
will  see  how  deep  is  the  chain  of  affinity. 

A  painter  told  me  that  nobody  could  draw  a  tree  without  in 
some  sort  becoming  a  tree ;  or  draw  a  child  by  studying  the 
outlines  of  its  form  merely, — but,  by  watching  for  a  time  his 
motions  and  plays,  the  painter  enters  into  his  nature,  and  can 
then  draw  him  at  will  in  every  attitude.  So  Roos  "  entered 
into  the  inmost  nature  of  a  sheep."  I  knew  a  draughtsman 
employed  in  a  public  surve}r,  who  found  that  he  could  not 
sketch  the  rocks  until  their  geological  structure  was  first  ex- 
plained to  him. 

What  is  to  be  inferred  from  these  facts  but  this ;  that  in  a 
certain  state  of  thought  is  the  common  origin  of  very  diverse 
works  ?  It  is  the  spirit  and  not  the  fact  that  is  identical.  By 
descending  far  down  into  the  depths  of  the  soul,  and  not  pri. 
marily  by  a  painful  acquisition  of  many  manual  skills,  the  artist 
attain?  the  pover  of  awakening  other  souls  to  a  given  activity 


It  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

It  has  been  said  that  "  common  souls  pay  with  what  they  do; 
nobler  souls  with  that  which  they  are."  And  why  ?  Because 
a  soul,  living  from  a  great  depth  of  being,  awakens  in  us  by 
its  actions  and  words,  by  its  very  looks  and  manners,  the  same 
power  and  beauty  that  a  gallery  of  sculpture,  or  of  pictures, 
are  wont  to  animate. 

Civil  history,  natural  history,  the  history  of  art,  and  the 
history  of  literature, — all  must  be  explained  from  individual 
history,  or  must  remain  words.  There  is  nothing  bu»,  is  re- 
lated to  us,  nothing  that  does  not  interest  us — kingdom,  col- 
lege, tree,  horse,  or  iron  shoe,  the  roots  of  all  things  are  in 
man.  It  is  in  the  soul  that  architecture  exists.  Santa  Croce 
and  the  Dome  of  St.  Peter's  are  lame  copies  after  a  divine 
model.  Strasburg  Cathedral  is  a  material  counterpart  of  the 
soul  of  Erwin  of  Steinbach.  The  true  poem  is  the  poet's 
mind ;  the  true  ship  is  the  shipbuilder.  In  the  man,  could 
we  lay  him  open,  we  should  see  the  sufficient  reason  for  the 
last  flourish  and  tendril  of  his  work,  as  every  spine  and  tint 
in  the  sea-shell  pre-exist  in  the  secreting  organs  of  the  fish. 
The  whole  of  heraldry  and  of  chilvalry  is  in  courtesy.  A 
man  of  fine  manners  shall  pronounce  your  name  with  all  the 
ornament  that  titles  of  nobility  could  ever  add. 

The  trivial  experience  of  every  day  is  always  verifying 
some  old  prediction  to  us,  and  converting  into  things  for  us 
also  the  words  and  signs  which  we  had  heard  and  seen  without 
heed.  Let  me  add  a  few  examples,  such  as  fall  within  the 
scope  of  every  man's  observation,  of  trivial  facts  which  go  to 
illustrate  great  and  conspicuous  facts. 

A  lady,  with  whom  I  was  riding  in  the  forest,  said  to  me, 
that  the  woods  always  seemed  to  her  to  wait,  as  if  the  genii 
who  inhabit  them  suspended  their  deeds  until  the  wayfarer 
has  passed  onward.  This  is  precisely  the  thought  which 
poetry  has  celebrated  in  the  dance  of  the  fairies  which  breaks 
'off  on  the  approach  of  human  feet.  The  man  who  has  seen 
the  rising  moon  break  out  of  the  clouds  at  midnight,  has  been 
present  like  an  archangel  at  the  creation  of  light  and  of  the 
world.  I  remember  that  being  abroad  one  summer  day,  my 
companion  pointed  out  to  me  a  broad  cloud,  which  might  ex« 
tend  a  quarter  of  a  mile  parallel  to  the  horizon,  quite  accu- 
rately  in  the  form  of  a  cherub  as  painted  over  churches, — a 
round  block  in  the  centre  which  it  was  easy  to  animate  with 
eyes  and  mouth,  supported  on  either  side  by  wide  stretched 
symmetrical  wings.  What  appears  once  in  the  atmosphere 
may  appear  often,  and  it  was  undoubtedly  the  archetype  of 
that  feinUiar  ornament*  I  have  seen  i&  Cue  sky  a  chain  ol 


HISTORY.  13 

Bummer  lightning  which  at  once  revealed  to  me  that  the 
G  -eeks  drew  from  nature  when  they  painted  the  thunderbolt 
in  die  hand  of  Jove.  I  have  seen  a  snowdrift  along  the  sides 
oi  the  stone  wall  which  obviously  gave  the  idea  of  the  com- 
mon architectural  scroll  to  abut  a  tower. 

By  simply  throwing  ourselves  into  new  circumstances  we 
do  continually  invent  anew  the  orders  and  the  ornaments  of 
architecture,  as  we  see  how  each  people  merely  decorated  its 
primitive  abodes.  The  Doric  temple  still  presents  the  sem- 
blance 1  the  wooden  cabin  in  which  the  Dorian  dwelt.  The 
Chinese  pagoda  is  plainly  a  Tartar  tent.  The  Indian  and 
Egyptian  temples  still  betray  the  mounds  and  subterranean 
houses  of  their  forefathers.  "  The  custom  of  making  houses 
and  tombs  in  the  living  rock,"  (says  Heeren,  in  his  Researches 
on  the  Ethiopians)  "  determined  very  naturally  the  principal 
character  of  the  Nubian  Egyptian  architecture  to  the  colossal 
form  which  it  assumed.  In  these  caverns  already  prepared  by 
nature,  the  eye  was  accustomed  to  dwell  on  huge  shapes  and 
masses,  so  that  when  art  came  to  the  assistance  of  nature,  it 
could  not  move  on  a  small  scale  without  degrading  itsel£ 
What  would  statutes  of  the  usual  size,  or  neat  porches  and 
wings  have  been,  associated  with  those  gigantic  halls  before 
which  only  Colossi  could  sit  as  watchmen,  or  lean  on  the  pil- 
lars of  the  interior  ?  " 

The  Gothic  church  plainly  originated  in  a  rude  adaptation 
of  the  forest  trees  with  all  their  boughs  to  a  festal  or  solemn 
arcade,  as  the  bands  about  the  cleft  pillars  still  indicate  the 
green  withes  that  tied  them.  No  one  can  walk  in  a  road  cut 
through  pine  woods,  without  being  struck  with  the  architeo* 
tural  appearance  of  the  grove,  especially  In  winter,  when  the 
bareness  of  all  other  trees  shows  the  low  arch  of  the  Saxons. 
In  the  woods  in  a  winter  afternoon  one  will  see  as  readily  the 
origin  of  the  stained  glass  window  with  which  the  Gothic 
cathedrals  are  adorned,  in  the  colors  of  the  western  sky  seen 
ihrough  the  bare  and  crossing  branches  of  the  forest.  Nor 
can  any  lover  of  nature  enter  the  old  piles  of  Oxford  and  the 
English  cathedrals  without  feeling  that  the  forest  overpowered 
the  mind  of  the  builder,  and  that  his  chisel,  his  saw,  and  plane 
still  reproduced  its  ferns,  its  spikes  of  flowers,  its  locust,  its 
pine,  its  oak,  its  fir,  its  spruce. 

The  Gothic  cathedral  is  a  blossoming  in  stone  subdued  by 
the  insatiable  demand  of  harmony  in  man.  The  mountain  of 
granite  blooms  into  an  eternal  flower  with  the  lightness  and 
delicate  finish  as  well  as  the  aerial  proportions  and  perspective 
off  vegetable  beauty. 


14  KHERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

In  like  manner  all  public  facts  are  to  be 
all  private  fects  are  to  be  generalized.  Then  at  once  History 
becomes  fluid  and  true,  and  Biography  deep  and  sublime.  As 
tiie  Persian  imitated  in  the  slender  shafts  and  capitals  of  his 
Architecture  the  stem  and  flower  of  the  lotus  and  palm,  so  the 
Persian  Court  in  its  magnificent  era  never  gave  over  the  No- 
madism  of  its  barbarous  tribes,  but  travelled  from  Ecbatana, 
where  the  spring  was  spent,  to  Susa  in  summer,  and  to  Baby- 
Ion  for  the  winter. 

In  the  early  history  of  Asia  and  Africa,  Nomadism  and  Ag< 
riculture  are  the  two  antagonist  facts.  The  geography  of 
Asia  and  of  Africa  necessitated  a  nomadic  life.  But  the  no- 
mads were  the  terror  of  all  those  whom  the  soil  or  the  advan- 
tages of  a  market  had  induced  to  build  towns.  Agriculture 
therefore  was  a  religious  injunction  because  of  the  perils  of  the 
state  from  nomadism.  And  in  these  late  and  civil  countries 
of  England  and  America,  the  contest  of  these  propensities  still 
fights  out  the  old  battle  in  each  individual.  We  are  all  rovers 
and  all  fixtures  by  turns,  and  pretty  rapid  turns.  The  no- 
mads  of  Africa  are  constrained  to  wander  by  the  attacks  of 
the  gadfly,  which  drives  the  cattle  mad,  and  so  compels  the 
tribe  to  emigrate  in  the  rainy  season  and  drive  off  the  cattle 
to  the  higher  sandy  regions.  The  nomads  of  Asia  follow  the 
pasturage  from  month  to  month.  In  America  and  Europe 
the  nomadism  is  of  trade  and  curiosity.  A  progress  certainly 
from  the  gadfly  of  Astaboras  to  the  Anglo  and  Italomania  of 
Boston  Bay.  The  difference  between  men  in  this  respect  is 
the  faculty  of  rapid  domestication,  the  power  to  find  his  chair 
and  bed  everywhere,  which  one  man  has  and  another  has  not. 
Some  men  have  so  much  of  the  Indian  left,  have  constitution* 
ally  such  habits  of  accommodation,  that  at  sea,  or  in  the  for- 
est, or  in  the  snow,  they  sleep  as  warm,  and  dine  with  as  good 
appetite,  and  associate  as  happily,  as  in  their  own  house.  And 
to  push  this  old  fact  still  one  degree  nearer,  we  may  find  it  » 
representative  of  a  permanent  fact  in  human  nature.  The  in- 
tellectual  nomadism  is  the  faculty  of  objectiveness  or  of  eyes 
which  everywhere  feed  themselves.  Who  hath  such  eyes, 
everywhere  falls  into  easy  relations  with  his  fellow-men. 
Every  man,  every  thing  is  a  prize,  a  study,  a  property  to 
him,  and  this  love  smooths  his  brow,  joins  him  to  men  and 
makes  him  beautiful  and  beloved  in  their  sight.  His  house 
is  a  wagon ;  he  roams  through  all  latitudes  as  easily  as  a  Cal- 
muc. 

Everything  the  individual  sees  without  him,  corresponds 
to  bis  states  of  mine),  and  every  thing  is  in  torn  intelligible  to 


fflBTOJtY.  18 

him,  as  his  onward  thinking  leads  him  into  the  truth  io  which 
that  fact  or  series  belongs. 

The  primeval  world,  the  Fore- World,  as  the  Germans  say, 
—I  can  dive  to  it  in  myself  as  well  as  grope  for  it  with  re» 
searching  fingers  in  catacombs,  libraries,  and  the  broken  re» 
liefs  and  torsos  of  ruined  villas. 

What  is  the  foundation  of  that  interest  all  men  feel  In 
Greek  bistory,  letters,  art  and  poetry,  in  all  its  periods,  from 
the  heroic  or  Homeric  age,  down  to  the  domestic  life  of  the 
Athenians  and  Spartans,  four  or  five  centuries  later  ?  This 
period  draws  us  because  we  are  Greeks.  It  is  a  state  through 
which  every  man  in  some  sort  passes.  The  Grecian  state  is 
the  era  of  the  bodily  nature,  the  perfection  of  the  senses, — of 
the  spiritual  nature  unfolded  in  strict  unity  with  the  body. 
In  it  existed  those  human  forms  which  supplied  the  sculptor 
with  his  models  of  Hercules,  Phoebus,  and  Jove  ;  not  like  the 
forms  abounding  in  the  streets  of  modern  cities,  wherein  the 
face  is  a  confused  blur  of  features,  but  composed  of  incorrupt, 
sharply  defined  and  symmetrical  features,  whose  eye-sockets 
are  so  formed  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  such  eyes  to 
squint,  ana  take  furtive  glances  on  this  side  and  on  that,  but 
they  must  turn  the  whole  head. 

The  manners  of  that  period  are  plain  and  fierce.  The  rev- 
erence exhibited  is  for  personal  qualities,  courage,  address,  self- 
command,  justice,  strength,  swiftness,  a  loud  voice,  a  broad 
chest.  Luxury  is  not  known,  nor  elegance.  A  sparse  popu- 
lation and  want  make  every  man  his  own  valet,  cook,  butcher, 
and  soldier,  and  the  habit  of  supplying  his  own  needs  educates 
the  body  to  wonderful  performances.  Such  are  the  Agamem. 
non  and  Diomed  of  Homer,  and  not  far  different  is  the  picture 
Xenophon  gives  of  himself  and  his  compatriots  in  the  Retreat 
of  the  Ten  Thousand.  "  After  the  army  had  crossed  the  river 
Teleboas  in  Armenia,  there  fell  much  snow,  and  the  troops  lay 
miserably  on  the  ground,  covered  with  it.  But  Xenophon 
arose  naked,  and  taking  an  axe,  began  to  split  wood  ;  where* 
upon  others  rose  and  did  the  like."  Throughout  his  army 
seemed  to  be  a  boundless  liberty  of  speech.  They  quarrel  for 
plunder,  they  wrangle  with  the  generals  on  each  new  order, 
and  Xenophon  is  as  sharp-tongued  as  anjr,  and  sharper-tongued 
than  most,  and  so  gives  as  good  as  he  gets.  Who  does  not 
see  that  this  is  a  gang  of  great  boys  with  such  a  code  of  honor 
and  such  lax  discipline  as  great  boys  have  ? 

The  costly  charm  of  the  ancient  tragedy  and  indeed  of  all 
the  old  literature  is,  that  the  persons  speak  simply, — speak  as 
persons  who  have  great  good  sense  without  knowing  it,  before 


It  EMERSON1  ti  ESSAYS. 

yet  the  reflective  habit  has  become  the  predominant  habit  of 
the  mind.  Our  admiration  of  the  antique  is  not  admiration  oi 
the  old.  but  of  the  natural.  The  Greeks  are  not  reflective  but 
perfect  in  their  senses,  perfect  in  their  health,  with  the  finest 
physical  organization  in  the  world.  Adults  acted  with  the  sim- 
plicity and  grace  of  boys.  They  made  vases,  tragedies,  and 
statues  such  as  healthy  senses  should — that  is,  in  good  taste. 
Such  things  have  continued  to  be  made  in  all  ages,  antl  are 
now,  wherever  a  healthy  physique  exists,  but,  as  a  class,  from 
their  superior  organization,  they  have  surpassed  all.  They 
combine  the  energy  of  manhood  with  the  engaging  uncon- 
sciousness of  childhood.  Our  reverence  for  them  is  our  re< 
Terence  for  childhood.  Nobody  can  reflect  upon  an  uncon- 
scious act  with  regret  or  contempt.  Bard  or  hero  cannot  look 
down  on  the  word  or  gesture  of  a  child.  It  is  as  great  as  they. 
The  attraction  of  these  manners  is,  that  they  belong  to  man, 
and  are  known  to  every  man  in  virtue  of  his  being  once  a 
child;  beside  that  always  there  are  individuals  who  retain 
these  characteristics.  A  person  of  childlike  genius  and  inborn 
energy  is  still  a  Greek,  and  revives  our  love  of  the  muse  of 
Hellas.  A  great  boy,  a  great  girl,  with  good  sense,  is  a  Greek. 
Beautiful  is  the  love  of  nature  in  the  Philoctetes.  But  in 
reading  those  fine  apostrophes  to  sleep,  to  the  stars,  rocks, 
mountains,  and  waves,  I  feel  time  passing  away  as  an  ebbing 
sea.  I  feel  the  eternity  of  man,  the  identity  of  his  thought. 
The  Greek  had,  it  seems,  the  same  fellow  beings  as  I.  The 
aun  and  moon,  water  and  fire,  met  his  heart  precisely  as  they 
meet  mine.  Then  the  vaunted  distinction  between  Greek  and 
English,  between  Classic  and  Romantic  schools  seems  super- 
ficial and  pedantic.  When  a  thought  of  Plato  becomes  a 
thought  to  me, — when  a  truth  that  fired  the  soul  of  Pindar 
fires  mine,  time  is  no  more.  When  I  feel  that  we  two  meet  in 
ft  perception,  that  our  two  souls  are  tinged  with  the  same  hue, 
and  do,  as  it  were,  run  into  one,  why  should  I  measure  degrees 
of  latitude,  why  should  I  count  Egyptian  years  ? 

The  student  interprets  the  age  of  chivalry  by  his  own  age 
of  chivalry,  and  the  days  of  maritime  adventure  and  circum 
navigation  by  quite  parallel  miniature  experiences  of  his  own 
To  the  sacred  history  of  the  world,  he  has  the  same  key 
When  the  voice  of  a  prophet  out  of  the  deeps  of  antiquity 
merely  echoes  to  him  a  sentiment  of  his  infancy,  a  prayer  of 
his  youth,  he  then  pierces  to  the  truth  through  all  the  con- 
fusion of  tradition  and  the  caricature  of  institutions. 

Rare,  extravagant  spirits  come  by  us  at  intervals,  who  dis- 
close  to  us  new  facts  in  nature.  I  see  that  men  of  God  have 


JftSTO&X<  ft 

gtways,  iron*  time  to  time,  walked  among  men  and  made  theii 
Commission  felt  in  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  commonest  hearer. 
Hence,  evidently,  the  tripod,  the  priest,  the  priestess  inspired 
by  the  divine  afflatus. 

Jesus  astonishes  and  overpowers  sensual  people.  They  can- 
aot  unite  him  to  history  or  reconcile  him  with  themselves. 
As  they  come  to  revere  their  intuitions  and  aspire  to  live 
flolily,  their  own  piety  explains  every  fact,  every  word. 

How  easily  these  old  worships  of  Moses,  of  Zoroaster,  of 
Menu,  of  Socrates,  domesticate  themselves  in  the  mind.  1 
cannot  find  any  antiquity  hi  them.  They  are  mine  as  much  as 
theirs. 

Then  I  have  seen  the  first  monks  and  anchorets  without 
crossing  seas  or  centuries.  More  than  once  some  individual 
has  appeared  to  me  with  such  negligence  of  labor  and  such 
commanding  contemplation,  a  haughty  beneficiary,  begging  hi 
the  name  of  God,  as  made  good  to  the  nineteenth  century 
Simeon  the  Stylite,  the  Thebais,  and  the  first  Capuchins. 

The  priestcraft  of  the  East  and  West,  of  the  Magian, 
Brahmin,  Druid  and  Inca,  is  expounded  in  the  individual's 
private  life.  The  cramping  influence  of  a  hard  formalist  on  a 
young  child  in  repressing  his  spirits  and  courage,  paralyzing 
the  understanding,  and  that  without  producing  indignation, 
but  only  fear  and  obedience,  and  even  much  sympathy  with 
the  tyranny, — is  a  familiar  fact  explained  to  the  child  when  he 
becomes  a  man,  only  by  seeing  that  the  oppressor  of  his  youth 
is  himself  a  child  tyrannized  over  by  those  names  and  words 
and  forms,  of  whose  influence  he  was  merely  the  organ  to  the 
youth.  The  fact  teaches  him  how  Belus  was  worshipped,  and 
now  the  pyramids  were  built,  better  than  the  discovery  by 
Champollion  of  the  names  of  all  the  workmen  and  the  cost  of 
every  tile.  He  finds  Assyria  and  the  mounds  of  Cholula  at 
his  door,  and  himself  has  laid  the  courses. 

Again,  in  that  protest  which  each  considerate  person  makes 
against  the  superstition  of  'his  times,  he  reacts  step  for  step 
the  part  of  old  reformers,  and  in  the  search  after  truth  finds 
like  them  new  perils  to  virtue.  He  learns  again  what  moral 
vigor  is  needed  to  supply  the  girdle  of  a  superstition.  A 
great  licentiousness  treads  on  the  heels  of  a  reformation. 
How  many  times  in  the  history  of  the  world  has  the  Luther 
of  the  day  had  to  lament  the  decay  of  piety  in  his  own  house- 
hold. "  Doctor,"  said  his  wife  to  Martin  Luther  one  day, 
u  how  is  it  that  whilst  subject  to  papacy,  we  prayed  so  often 
an  /.  with  such  fervor,  whilst  now  we  pray  with  the  utmost 
very  seldono  *  '* 


V  SXERSON'8  ESSAYS. 

The  advancing  man  discovers  how  deep  a  property  he  hatfc 
tn  all  literature, — in  all  fable  as  well  as  in  all  history.  He 
flnds  that  the  poet  was  no  odd  fellow  who  described  strange 
and  impossible  situations,  but  that  universal  man  wrote  by 
his  pen  a  confession  true  for  one  and  true  for  all.  His  own 
secret  biography  he  finds  in  lines  wonderfully  intelligible  to 
him,  yet  dotted  down  before  he  was  born.  One  after  another 
he  comes  up  in  his  private  adventures  with  every  fable  of 
Jilsop,  of  Homer,  of  Hafiz,  of  Ariosto,  of  Chaucer,  of  Scott, 
and  verifies  them  with  his  own  head  and  hands. 

The  beautiful  fables  of  the  Greeks,  being  proper  creations 
of  the  Imagination  and  not  of  the  Fancy,  are  univei-sal  ver- 
ities. What  a  range  of  meanings  and  what  perpetual  perti- 
nence has  the  story  of  Prometheus  1  Beside  its  primary 
value  as  the  first  chapter  of  the  history  of  Europe,  (the 
mythology  thinly  veiling  authentic  facts,  the  invention  of  the 
mechanic  arts,  and  the  migration  of  colonies,)  it  gives  the 
history  of  religion  with  some  closeness  to  the  faith  of  later 
ages.  Prometheus  is  the  Jesus  of  the  old  mythology.  He  is 
the  friend  of  man  ;  stands  between  the  unjust '  justice  *  of  the 
Eternal  Father,  and  the  race  of  mortals ;  and  readily  suffers 
all  things  on  their  account.  But  where  it  departs  from  the 
Calvinistic  Christianity,  and  exhibits  him  as  the  defier  of 
Jove,  it  represents  a  state  of  mind  which  readily  appears 
wherever  the  doctrine  of  Theism  is  taught  in  a  crude,  objec- 
tive form,  and  which  seems  the  self-defence  of  man  against 
this  untruth,  namely,  a  discontent  with  the  believed  fact  that 
a  God  exists,  and  a  feeling  that  the  obligation  of  reverence  is 
onerous.  It  would  steal,  if  it  could,  the  fire  of  the  Creator, 
and  live  apart  from  him,  and  independent  of  him.  The  Pro- 
metheus Vinctus  is  the  romance  of  skepticism.  Not  less  true 
to  all  time  are  all  the  details  of  that  stately  apologue.  Apollo 
kept  the  flocks  of  Admetus,  said  the  poets.  Every  man  is  a 
divinity  in  disguise,  a  god  playing  the  fool.  It  seems  as  if 
heaven  had  sent  its  insane  angels  into  our  world  as  to  an 
asylum,  and  here  they  will  break  out  into  their  native  musio 
and  utter  at  intervals  the  words  they  have  heard  hi  heaven <, 
then  the  mad  fit  returns,  and  they  mope  and  wallow  like  dogs. 
When  the  gods  come  among  men,  they  are  not  known.  Jesus 
was  not ;  Socrates  and  Shakspeare  were  not.  Antaeus  was 
suffocated  by  the  gripe  of  Hercules,  but  every  time  he  touched 
his  mother  earth,  his  strength  was  renewed.  Man  is  the 
broken  giant,  and  in  all  his  weakness,  both  his  body  and  his 
mind  are  invigorated  by  habits  of  conversation  with  nature. 
The  power  of  music,  the  power  of  poetry  to  unfix,  and  as  it 


HISTORY.  19 

were,  clap  whigs  to  all  solid  nature,  interprets  the  riddle  of 
Orpheus,  which  was  to  his  childhood  an  idle  tale.  The  philo- 
sophical perception  of  identity  through  endless  mutations  of 
form,  makes  him  know  the  Proteus.  What  else  am  I  who 
laughed  or  wept  yesterday,  who  slept  last  night  like  a  corpse, 
and  this  morning  stood  and  ran  ?  And  what  see  I  on  any 
side  but  the  transmigrations  of  Proteus  ?  I  can  symbolize 
my  thought  by  using  the  name  of  any  creature,  of  any  fact, 
because  every  creature  is  man,  agent  or  patient.  Tantalus  is 
out  a  name  for  you  and  me.  Tantalus  means  the  impossibility 
of  drinking  the  waters  of  thought  which  are  always  gleaming 
and  waving  within  sight  of  the  soul.  The  transmigration  of 
souls  :  that  too  is  no  fable.  I  would  it  were ;  but  men  and 
women  are  only  half  human.  Every  animal  of  the  barn-yard, 
the  field  and  the  forest,  of  the  earth  and  of  the  waters  that 
are  under  the  earth,  has  contrived  to  get  a  footing  and  to 
leave  the  print  of  its  features  and  form  in  some  one  or  other 
of  these  upright,  heaven-facing  speakers.  Ah,  brother,  hold 
fast  to  the  man  and  awe  the  beast ;  stop  the  ebb  of  thy  soul — • 
ebbing  downward  into  the  forms  into  whose  habits  thou  hast 
now  for  many  years  slid.  As  near  and  proper  to  us  is  also 
that  old  fable  of  the  Sphinx,  who  was  said  to  sit  in  the  road- 
side and  put  riddles  to  every  passenger.  If  the  man  could 
not  answer  she  swallowed  him  alive.  If  he  could  solve  the 
riddle,  the  Sphinx  was  slain.  What  is  our  life  but  an  endless 
flight  of  winged  facts  or  events  1  In  splendid  variety  these 
changes  come,  all  putting  questions  to  the  human  spirit. 
Those  men  who  cannot  answer  by  a  superior  wisdom  these 
facts  or  questions  of  time,  serve  them.  Facts  encumber 
them,  tyrannize  over  them,  and  make  the  men  of  routine,  the 
men  of  sense,  in  whom  a  literal  obedience  to  facts  has  extin 
guished  every  spark  of  that  light  by  which  man  is  truly  man 
But  if  the  man  is  true  to  his  better  instincts  or  sentiments, 
and  refuses  the  dominion  of  facts,  as  one  that  comes  of  a 
higher  race,  remains  fast  by  the  soul  and  sees  the  principle, 
then  the  facts  fall  aptly  and  supple  into  their  places ;  they 
know  their  master,  and  the  meanest  of  them  glorifies  him. 

See  in  Goethe's  Helena  the  same  desire  that  every  word 
should  be  a  thing.  These  figures,  he  would  say,  these  Chirons, 
Griffins,  Phorkyas,  Helen,  and  Leda,  are  somewhat,  and  do 
exert  a  specific  influence  on  the  mind.  So  far  then  are  they 
eternal  entities,  as  real  to-day  as  in  the  first  Olympiad.  Much 
revolving  them,  he  writes  out  freely  his  humor,  and  gives 
them  body  to  his  own  imagination.  And  although  that  poem 
be  as  vague  and  fantastic  as  a  &  earn,  yet-  is  it  rnucb  mere 


20  JSMESSON'S  ESSAYS. 

attractive  than  the  more  regular  dramatic  pieces  ot  the  same 
author,  for  the  reason  that  it  operates  a  wonderful  relief  t<j 
the  mind  from  the  routine  of  customary  images, — awakens 
the  reader's  invention  and  fancy  by  the  wild  freedom  of  the 
design,  and  by  the  unceasing  succession  of  brisk  shocks  of 
surprise. 

The  universal  nature,  too  strong  for  the  petty  nature  of  the 
bard,  sits  on  his  neck  and  writes  through  his  hand';  so  that 
when  he  seems  to  vent  a  mere  caprice  and  wild  romance,  the 
issue  is  an  exact  allegory.  Hence  Plato  said  that  "  poets 
utter  great  and  wise  things  which  they  do  not  themselves  un- 
derstand." All  the  fictions  of  the  Middle  Age  explain  them- 
selves as  a  masked  or  frolic  expression  of  that  which  in  grave 
earnest  the  mind  of  that  period  toiled  to  achieve.  Magic; 
and  all  that  is  ascribed  to  it,  is  manifestly  a  deep  presenti- 
ment of  the  powers  of  science.  The  shoes  of  swiftness,  the 
sword  of  sharpness,  the  power  of  subduing  the  elements,  of 
using  the  secret  virtues  of  minerals,  of  understanding  the 
voices  of  birds,  are  the  obscure  efforts  of  the  mind  in  a  right 
direction.  The  preternatural  prowess  of  the  hero,  the  gift  of 
perpetual  youth,  and  the  like,  are  alike  the  endeavor  of  the 
human  spirit  u  to  bend  the  shows  of  things  to  the  desires  o* 
the  mind." 

In  Perceforest  and  Amadis  de  Gaul,  a  garland  and  a  roso 
bloom  on  the  head  of  her  who  is  faithful,  and  fade  on  the  brow 
of  the  inconstant.  In  the  story  of  the  Boy  and  the  Mantle, 
even  a  mature  reader  may  be  surprised  with  a  glow  of  virtu- 
ous pleasure  at  the  triumph  of  the  gentle  Genelas ;  and  in- 
deed, all  the  postulates  of  elfin  annals,  that  the  Fairies  do  not 
iike  to  be  named ;  that  their  gifts  are  capricious  and  not  to  be 
trusted  ;  that  who  seeks  a  treasure  must  not  speak  ;  and  the 
like,  I  find  true  in  Concord,  however  they  might  be  in  Corn- 
wall or  Bretagne. 

Is  it  otherwise  in  the  newest  romance  ?  I  read  the  Bride 
of  Lammermoor.  Sir  William  Ashton  is  a  mask  for  a  vulgar 
temptation,  Ravenswood  Castle,  a  fine  name  for  proud  poverty, 
and  the  foreign  mission  of  state  only  a  Bunyan  disguise  for 
honest  industry.  We  may  all  shoot  a  wild  bull  that  would 
toss  the  good  and  beautiful,  by  fighting  down  the  unjust  and 
sensual.  Lucy  Ashton  is  another  name  for  fidelity,  which  ia 
always  beautiful  and  always  liable  to  calamity  in  this  world. 

But  along  with  the  civil  and  metaphysical  history  of  man, 
ft:  other  history  goes  daily  forward — that  of  the  external 
world, — in  which  he  is  not  less  strictly  implicated.  He  is  the 
uompend  of  time  *  be  is  also  the  correlative  of  nature.  Th» 


HISTORY,  M 

power  of  man  consists  in  the  multitude  of  his  affinities,  i^  he 
fact  that  his  life  is  intertwined  with  the  whole  chain  of  org*  «aio 
and  inorganic  being.  In  the  age  of  the  Caesars,  out  from  the 
Forum  at  Rome  proceeded  the  great  highways  north,  south, 
east,  west,  to  the  centre  of  every  province  of  the  empire, 
making  each  market-town  of  Persia,  Spain  and  Britain,  pre» 
vious  to  the  soldiers  of  the  capital:  so  out  of  the  human  heart 
50,  as  it  were,  highways  to  the  heart  of  every  object  in  nature, 
to  reduce  it  under  the  dominion  of  man.  A  man  is  a  bundle 
of  relations,  a  knot  of  roots,  whose  flower  and  fruitage  is  the 
world.  All  his  faculties  refer  to  natures  out  of  him.  All  his 
faculties  predict  the  world  he  is  to  inhabit,  as  the  fins  of  the 
fish  foreshow  that  water  exists,  or  the  wings  of  an  eagle  in 
the  egg  presuppose  a  medium  like  air.  Insulate  and  you 
destroy  him.  He  cannot  live  without  a  world.  Put  Napoleon 
in  an  island  prison,  let  his  faculties  find  no  men  to  act  on,  no 
Alps  to  climb,  no  stake  to  play  for,  and  he  would  beat  the  air 
and  appear  stupid.  Transport  him  to  large  countries,  dense 
population,  complex  interests,  and  antagonist  power,  and  you 
shall  see  that  the  man  Napoleon,  bounded,  that  is,  by  such  a 
profile  and  outline,  is  not  the  virtual  Napoleon.  This  is  but 
Talbot's  shadow ; 

His  substance  is  not  here : 
For  what  you  see  is  but  the  smallest  part, 
And  least  proportion  of  humanity  ; 
But  were  the  whole  frame  here, 
It  is  of  such  a  spacious,  loftly  pitch, 
Your  roof  were  not  sufficient  to  contain  it. 

Henry  VI. 

Columbus  needs  a  planet  to  shape  his  course  upon.  New- 
ton and  Laplace  need  myriads  of  ages  and  thick-strown  celes- 
tial areas.  One  may  say  a  gravitating  solar  system  is  already 
prophesied  in  the  nature  of  Newton's  mind.  Not  less  does 
the  brain  of  Davy  and  Gay  Lussac  from  childhood  exploring 
always  the  affinities  and  repulsions  of  particles,  anticipate  the 
laws  of  organization.  Does  not  the  eye  of  the  human  embryo 
predict  the  light  ?  the  ear  of  Handel  predict  the  witchcraft  of 
harmonic  sound  ?  Do  not  the  constructive  fingers  of  Watt, 
Fulton,  Whittemore,  Arkwright  predict  the  fusible,  hard,  and 
temperable  texture  of  metals,  the  properties  of  stone,  water 
and  wood  ?  the  lovely  attributes  of  the  maiden  child  predict 
the  refinements  and  decorations  of  civil  society  ?  Here  also 
we  are  reminded  of  the  action  of  man  on  man.  A  mind 
might  ponder  its  thought  for  ages,  and  not  gam  so  much  self 
knowledge  as  the  passion  of  We  shaU  teach  it  in  a  day. 


m  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

Who  knows  himself  before  he  has  been  thrilled  with  indigna- 
tion at  an  outrage,  or  has  heard  an  eloquent  tongue,  or  has 
shared  the  throb  of  thousands  in  a  national  exultation  or 
ttlarm?  No  man  can  antedate  his  experience,  or  guess  what 
faculty  or  feeling  a  new  object  shall  unlock,  any  more  than  he 
can  draw  to-day  the  face  of  a  person  whom  he  shall  see  to- 
morrow for  the  first  time. 

I  will  not  now  go  behind  the  general  statement  to  explore  the 
reason  of  this  correspondency.  Let  it  suffice  that  in  the  light 
of  these  two  facts,  namely,  that  the  mind  is  One ;  and  that 
nature  is  its  correlative,  history  is  to  be  read  and  written. 

Thus  in  all  ways  does  the  soul  concentrate  and  reproduce 
its  treasures  for  each  pupil,  for  each  new-born  man.  He,  too, 
shall  pass  through  the  whole  cycle  of  experience.  He  sfaall 
collect  into  a  focus  the  rays  of  nature.  History  no  longer 
shall  be  a  dull  book.  It  shall  walk  incarnate  in  every  just 
and  wise  man.  You  shall  not  tell  me  by  languages  and  titles 
a  catalogue  of  the  volumes  you  have  read.  You  shall  make 
me  feel  what  periods  you  have  lived.  A  man  shall  be  the 
Temple  of  Fame.  He  shall  walk,  as  the  poets  have  described 
that  goddess,  in  a  robe  painted  all  over  with  wonderful  events 
and  experiences  ; — his  own  form  and  features  by  their  exalted 
intelligence  shall  be  that  variegated  vest.  I  shall  find  in  him 
the  Foreworld ;  in  his  childhood  the  Age  of  Gold  ;  the  Apples 
of  Knowledge ;  the  Argonautic  Expedition ;  the  calling  of 
Abraham ;  the  building  of  the  Temple ;  the  Advent  of  Christ ; 
Dark  Ages ;  the  Revival  of  Letters  ;  the  Reformation ;  the 
discovery  of  new  lands,  the  opening  of  new  sciences,  and  new 
regions  in  man.  He  shall  be  the  priest  of  Pan,  and  bring  with 
him  into  humble  cottages  the  blessing  of  the  morning  stars 
and  all  the  recorded  benefits  of  heaven  and  earth. 

Is  there  somewhat  overweening  in  this  claim  ?  Then  I  re- 
ject all  I  have  written,  for  what  is  the  use  of  pretending  to 
know  what  we  know  not  ?  But  it  is  the  fault  of  our  rhetoric  that 
Vre  cannot  strongly  state  one  fact  without  seeming  to  belie 
some  other.  I  hold  our  actual  knowledge  very  cheap.  Hear 
the  rats  in  the  wall,  see  the  lizard  on  the  fence,  the  fungus 
under  foot,  the  lichen  on  the  log.  What  do  I  know  sympathet- 
ically, morally,  of  either  of  these  worlds  of  life  ?  As  long  as 
the  Caucasian  man — perhaps  longer — these  creatures  have 
kept  their  counsel  beside  him,  and  there  is  no  record  of  any 
word  or  sign  that  has  passed  from  one  to  the  other.  Nay, 
what  does  history  yet  record  of  the  metaphysical  annals  of 
man?  What  light  does  it  shed  on  those  mysteries  which  we 
the  names  Death  and  Immortality  ?  Yet  every 


B18TORY.  91 

history  should  ue  written  in  a  wisdom  which  divined  the  range 
of  our  affinities  and  looked  at  facts  as  symbols.  I  am 
ashamed  to  see  what  a  shallow  village  tale  our  so-called  His- 
tory is.  How  many  times  we  must  say  Rome,  and  Paris,  and 
Constantinople.  What  does  Rome  know  of  rat  and  lizard  ? 
What  are  Otympiads  and  Consulates  to  these  neighboring 
systems  of  being  ?  Nay,  what  food  or  experience  or  succor 
have  they  for  the  Esquimau  seal-hunter,  for  the  Kanaka  in 
his  canoe,  for  the  fisherman,  the  stevedore,  the  porter? 

Broader  and  deeper  we  must  write  our  annals — from  an 
ethical  reformation,  from  an  influx  of  the  ever  new,  ever  sana- 
tive conscience, — if  we  would  trulier  express  our  central  and 
wide-related  nature,  instead  of  this  old  chronology  of  selfish- 
ness and  pride  to  which  we  have  too  long  lent  our  eyes. 
Already  that  day  exists  for  us,  shines  in  on  us  at  unawares,  but 
the  path  of  science  and  of  letters  is  not  the  way  into  nature, 
but  from  it,  rather.  The  idiot,  the  Indian,  the  child,  and  un- 
schooled farmer's  boy,  come  much  nearer  to  these, — under- 
stand  them  better  than  th*  dissector  or  the  antiquary. 


SELF-RELIANCE. 


Ne  te  qusesiveris  extra. 


•Man  is  his  own  star,  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man, 
Command  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate, 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early  or  too  late. 
Onr  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Onr  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still." 
Epilogue  to  Beaumont  and  Fletcher^  Honest  Man's  Fortm 

(25) 


H&st  tho  bantling  on  tbe  rocks, 
Suckle  him  with  the  she-wolf's  tegt 
Wintered  with  the  hawk  and  ibx, 
Power  and  speed  be  hands  and  feet* 


ESSAY  n. 

SELF-RELIANCB. 


I  BEAD  the  other  day  some  verses  written  by  an  emine&c 
painter  which  were  original  and  not  conventional.  Always 
the  soul  hears  an  admonition  in  such  lines,  let  the  subject  be 
what  it  may.  The  sentiment  they  instil  is  of  more  value  than 
any  thought  they  may  contain.  To  believe  your  own  thought, 
to  believe  that  what  is  true  for  you  in  your  private  heart,  is 
true  for  all  men, — that  is  genius.  Speak  your  latent  convic- 
tion and  it  shall  be  the  universal  sense  ;  for  always  the  inmost 
becomes  the  outmost, — and  our  first  thought  is  rendered  back 
to  us  by  the  trumpets  of  the  Last  Judgment.  Familiar  as  the 
voice  of  the  mind  is  to  each,  the  highest  merit  we  ascribe  to 
Moses,  Plato,  and  Milton,  is  that  they  set  at  naught  books  and 
traditions,  and  spoke  not  what  men,  but  what  they,  thought. 
A  man  should  learn  to  detect  and  watch  that  gleam  of  light 
which  flashes  across  his  mind  from  within,  more  than  the 
lustre  of  the  firmament  of  bards  and  sages.  Yet  he  dismisses 
without  notice  his  thought,  because  it  is  his.  In  every  work 
of  genius  we  recognize  our  own  rejectee*  thoughts :  they  come 
back  to  us  with  a  certain  alienated  majesty  Great  works  of 
art  have  no  more  affecting  lesson  for  us  than  this.  They 
teach  us  to  abide  by  our  spontaneous  impression  with  good 
humored  inflexibility  then  most  when  the  whole  cry  of  voices 
is  on  the  other  side.  Else,  to-morrow  a  stranger  will  say  with 
masterly  good  sense  precisely  what  we  have  thought  and  felt 
all  the  time,  and  we  shall  be  forced  *o  take  with  shame  our 
own  opinion  from  another. 

There  is  a  time  in  every  man's  education  when  he  arrives 
at  the  conviction  that  envy  is  ignorance ;  that  imitation  is 
suicide ;  that  he  must  take  himself  for  better,  for  worse,  as  his 
portion;  that  though  the  wide  universe  is  full  of  good,  no 
kernel  of  nourishing  corn  can  come  to  him  but  through  his 
toil  bestowed  on  that  plot  of  ground  which  is  given  to  him  to 
till  The  power  which  resides  in  him  is  new  in  nature,  and 
none  but  he  knows  what  that  is  which  he  can  do,  nor  does 
he  know  until  he  has  tried.  Not  for  nothing  one  face,  one 

OR) 


as  gxsstacOira  ESSAYS. 

character,  one  fact  makes  much  impression  on  him,  and  another 
none.  It  is  not  without  pre-established  harmony,  this  sculp- 
ture in  the  memory.  The  eye  was  placed  where  one  ray  should 
fall,  that  it  might  testify  of  that  particular  ray.  Bravely  let 
him  speak  the  utmost  syllable  of  his  confession.  We  but 
half  express  ourselves,  and  are  ashamed  of  that  divine  idea 
which  each  of  us  represents.  It  may  be  safely  trusted  as  pro- 
portionate and  of  good  issues,  so  it  be  faithfully  imparted,  but 
God  will  not  have  his  work  made  manifest  by  cowards.  It 
needs  a  divine  man  to  exhibit  any  thing  divine.  A  man  is 
relieved  and  gay  when  he  has  put  his  heart  into  his  work  and 
done  his  best ;  but  what  he  has  said  or  done  otherwise,  shall 

five  him  no  peace.     It  is  a  deliverance  which  does  not  deliver. 
Q  the  attempt  his  genius  deserts  him ;  no  muse  befriends ;  no 
invention,  no  hope. 

Trust  thyself:  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron  string. 
Accept  the  place  the  divine  Providence  has  found  for  you  : 
the  society  of  your  contemporaries,  the  connection  of  events. 
Great  men  have  always  done  so  and  confided  themselves 
childlike  to  the  genius  of  their  age,  betraying  their  percep- 
tion that  the  Eternal  was  stirring  at  their  heart,  working 
through  their  hands,  predominating  in  all  their  being.  And 
we  are  now.  men,  and  must  accept  in  the  highest  mind  the 
same  transcendent  destiny  ;  and  not  pinched  in  a  corner,  not 
cowards  fleeing  before  a  revolution,  but  redeemers  and  bene- 
factors, pious  aspirants  to  be  noble  clay  plastic  under  the 
Almighty  effort,  let  us  advance  and  advance  on  Chaos  and 
the  Dark. 

What  pretty  oracles  nature  yields  us  on  this  text  in  the 
face  and  behavior  of  children,  babes  and  even  brutes.  That 
divided  and  rebel  mind,  that  distrust  of  a  sentiment  because 
urithmetic  has  computed  the  strength  and  means  opposed  to 
our  purpose,  these  have  not.  Their  mind  being  whole,  their 
eye  is  as  yet  unconquered,  and  when  we  look  in  their  faces? 
we  are  disconcerted.  Infancy  conforms  to  nobody  :  all  con* 
form  to  it,  so  that  one  babe  commonly  makes  four  or  five  out 
of  the  adults  who  prattle  and  play  to  it.  So  God  has  armed 
youth  and  puberty  and  manhood  no  less  with  its  own  piquancy 
and  charm,  and  made  it  enviable  and  gracious  and  its  claims 
uot  to  be  put  by,  if  it  will  stand  by  itself.  Do  not  think  the 
youth  has  no  force  because  he  cannot  speak  to  you  and  me. 
Hurk  i  in  tve  next  room,  who  spoke  so  clear  and  emphatic ? 
Good  Hesi  jn  1  it  is  he!  it  is  that  very  lump  of  bash-fulness 
and  pLiegm  which  for  weeks  has  done  nothing  but  eat  when 
you  were  by,  that  now  raiis  out  these  words  like  bell-strokes. 


SELF-RELIANCE.  & 

It  seems  ne  Knows  how  to  speak  to  his  contemporaries.  Basn 
ful  or  bold,  then,  he  will  know  how  to  maKe  us  seniors  very 
unnecessary. 

The  nonchalance  of  boys  who  are  sure  of  a  dinner,  and 
would  disdain  as  much  as  a  lord  to  do  or  say  aught  to  concil- 
iate one,  is  the  healthy  attitude  of  human  nature.  How  is  a 
boy  the  master  of  society  ! — independent,  irresponsible,  look- 
ing out  from  his  corner  on  such  people  and  facts  as  pass  by, 
he  tries  and  sentences  them  on  their  merits,  in  the  swift  sum 
mary  way  of  boj^s,  as  good,  bad,  interesting,  silly,  eloquent, 
troublesome.  He  cumbers  himself  never  about  consequences, 
about  interests  :  he  gives  an  independent,  genuine  verdict. 
You  must  court  him  :  he  does  not  court  you.  But  the  man 
is,  as  it  were,  clapped  into  jail  by  his  consciousness.  As  soon 
as  he  has  once  acted  or  spoken  with  eclat,  he  is  a  committed 
person,  watched  by  the  sympatny  or  the  hatred  of  hundreds 
whose  affections  must  now  enter  into  his  account.  There  is 
no  Lethe  for  this.  Ah,  that  he  could  pass  again  into  his 
neutral,  godlike  independence  1  Who  can  thus  lose  all  pledge, 
and  having  observed,  observe  again  from  the  same  unaffected, 
unbiased,  unbribable,  unaffrighted  innocence,  must  always  be 
formidable,  must  always  engage  the  poet's  and  the  man's  re- 
gards. Of  such  an  immortal  youth  the  force  would  be  felt. 
He  would  utter  opinions  on  all  passing  affairs,  which  being 
seen  to  be  not  private  but  necessary,  would  sink  like  darts 
into  the  ear  of  men,  and  put  them  in  fear. 

These  are  the  voices  which  we  hear  in  solitude,  but  they 
grow  faint  and  inaudible  as  we  enter  into  the  world.  Society 
everywhere  is  in  conspiracy  against  the  manhood  of  every 
one  of  its  members.  Society  is  a  joint-stock  company  in 
which  the  members  agree  for  the  better  securing  of  his  bread 
to  each  shareholder,  to  surrender  the  liberty  and  culture  of 
the  eater.  The  virtue  in  most  request  is  conformity.  Self 
reliance  is  its  aversion.  It  loves  not  realities  and  creators 
but  names  and  customs. 

Whoso  would  be  a  man  must  be  a  nonconformist.  He 
who  would  gather  immortal  palms  must  not  be  hindered  by 
the  name  of  goodness,  but  must  explore  if  it  be  goodness. 
Nothing  is  at  last  sacred  but  the  integrity  of  our  own  mind. 
Absolve  you  to  yourself,  and  yon  shall  have  the  suffrage  of 
the  world.  I  remember  an  answer  which  when  quite  young  I 
was  prompted  to  make  to  a  valued  adviser  who  was  wont  to 
importune  me  with  the  dear  old  doctrines  of  the  church.  On 
my  saying,  What  have  I  to  do  with  the  sacredness  of  tradi- 
tions, if  I  live  wholly  from  within '(  my  friend  suggested— 


*  But  these  Impnisco  may  ^,  .^um  ^ciow,  not  from  w^JVo.  I 
replied,  *  They  do  not  seem  to  me  to  be  such ;  but  if  I  am  the 
devil's  child,  I  will  live  then  from  the  devil.'  No  law  can  be 
sacred  to  me  but  that  of  my  nature.  Good  and  bad  are  but 
names  very  readily  transferable  to  that  or  this ;  the  only 
right  is  what  is  after  my  constitution,  the  only  wrong  what  is 
against  it.  A  man  is  to  carry  himself  in  the  presence  of  all 
opposition  as  if  everything  were  titular  and  ephemeral  but 
he  I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  easily  we  capitulate  to 
badges  and  names,  to  large  societies  and  dead  institutions. 
Every  decent  and  well-spoken  individual  affects  and  sways 
me  more  than  is  right.  I  ought  to  go  upright  and  vital,  and 
speak  the  rude  truth  in  all  ways.  If  malice  and  vanity  wear 
the  coat  of  philanthropy,  shall  that  pass?  If  an  angry  bigot 
assumes  this  bountiful  cause  of  Abolition,  and  comes  to  me 
with  his  last  news  from  Barbadoes,  why  should  I  not  say  to 
him, '  Go  love  thy  infant ;  love  thy  wood-chopper  :  be  good- 
natured  and  modest :  have  that  grace ;  and  never  varnish 
your  hard,  uncharitable  ambition  with  this  incredible  tender- 
ness for  black  folk  a  thousand  miles  off.  Thy  love  afar  is 
spite  at  home.'  Rough  and  graceless  would  be  such  greeting, 
but  truth  is  handsomer  than  the  affectation  of  love.  Your 
goodness  must  have  some  edge  to  it — else  it  is  none.  The 
doctrine  of  hatred  must  be  preached  as  the  counteraction  of 
the  doctrine  of  love  when  that  pules  and  whines.  I  shun 
father  and  mother  and  wife  and  brother,  when  my  genius  calls 
me.  I  would  write  on  the  lintels  of  the  door-post,  Whim.  I 
hope  it  is  somewhat  better  than  whim  at  last,  but  we  cannot 
spend  the  day  in  explanation.  Expect  me  not  to  show  cause 
why  I  seek  or  why  I  exclude  company.  Then,  again,  do  not 
tell  me,  as  a  good  man  did  to-day,  of  my  obligation  to  put  all 
poor  men  in  good  situations.  Are  they  my  poor?  I  tell 
thee,  thou  foolish  philanthropist,  that  I  grudge  the  dollar,  the 
dime,  the  cent  I  give  to  such  men  as  do  not  belong  to  me  and, 
to  whom  I  do  not  belong.  There  is  a  class  of  persons  to 
whom  by  all  spiritual  affinity  I  am  bought  and  sold ;  for  them 
I  will  go  to  prison,  if  need  be ;  but  your  miscellaneous  pop* 
ular  charities  ;  the  education  at  college  of  fools ;  the  building 
of  meeting-houses  to  the  vain  end  to  which  many  now  stand ; 
alms  to  sots ;  and  the  thousandfold  Relief  Societies ; — though 
I  confess  with  shame  I  sometimes  succumb  and  give  the  dol- 
lar, it  is  a  wicked  dollar  which  by-ood-by  I  shall  have  the 
Manhood  to  withhold. 

Virtues  are  in  the  popular  estimate  rather  the  exception 
than  the  role.    There  is  the  man  and  his  virtues.    Men  do 


<7hat  is  called  a  good  action,  as  some  piece  of  courage  or  charity, 
much  as  they  would  pay  a  fine  in  expiation  of  daily  nonappear- 
ance  on  parade.  Their  works  are  done  as  an  apology  or  ex- 
tenuation  of  their  living  in  the  world, — as  invalids  and  the 
insane  pay  a  high  board.  Their  virtues  are  penances.  I  do 
not  wish  to  expiate,  but  to  live.  My  life  is  not  an  apology, 
but  a  life.  It  is  for  itself  and  not  for  a  spectacle.  I  much 
prefer  that  it  should  be  of  a  lower  strain,  so  it  be  genuine  and 
equal,  than  that  it  should  be  glittering  and  unsteady.  I  wish 
it  to  be  sound  and  sweet,  and  not  to  need  diet  and  bleeding 
My  life  should  be  unique ;  it  should  be  an  alms,  &  battle,  a 
conquest,  a  medicine.  I  ask  primary  evidence  thai  you  are  a 
man,  and  refuse  this  appeal  from  the  man  to  his  actions.  I 
know  that  for  myself  ijb  makes  no  differ«siiee  whether  I  do  or 
forbear  those  actions  which  are  reckoned  OAcellent.  I  cannot 
consent  to  pay  for  a  privilege  where  I  kave  intrinsic  right. 
Few  and  mean  as  my  gifts  may  be,  I  Mutually  am,  and  do  not 
need  for  my  own  assurance  or  the  assurance  of  my  fellows  any 
secondary  testimony. 

What  I  must  do,  is  all  that  concerns  mey  not  what  the  peo- 
ple think.  This  rule,  equally  arduous  in  actual  and  in  intel- 
lectual life,  may  serve  for  the  whole  distinction  between  great- 
ness and  meanness.  It  is  the  harder,  because  you  will  always 
flnd  those  who  think  they  know  what  is  your  duty  better  than 
you  know  it.  It  is  easy  in  the  world  to  live  after  the  world's 
opinion ;  it  is  easy  in  solitude  to  live  after  our  own ;  but  the 
great  man  is  he  who  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  keeps  wit?^ 
perfect  sweetness  the  independence  of  solitude. 

The  objection  to  conforming  to  usages  that  have  become 
dead  to  you,  is,  that  it  scatters  your  force.  It  loses  your 
time  and  blurs  the  impression  of  your  character.  If  you 
maintain  a  dead  church,  contribute  to  a  dead  Bible-Society, 
Tote  with  a  great  party  either  for  the  Government  or  against 
it,  spread  your  table  like  base  housekeepers, — under  all  these 
icreens,  I  have  difficulty  to  detect  the  precise  man  you  are. 
And,  of  course,  so  much  force  is  withdrawn  from  your  proper 
life.  But  do  your  thing,  and  I  shall  know  you.  Do  your  work, 
and  you  shall  reinforce  yourself.  A  man  must  consider  what 
a  blind-man's-buff  is  this  game  of  conformity.  If  I  know  your 
sect,  I  anticipate  your  argument.  I  hear  a  preacher  announce 
for  his  text  and  topic  the  expediency  of  one  of  the  institutions 
Of  his  church.  Do  I  not  know  beforehand  that  not  possibly 
can  he  say  a  new  and  spontaneous  word  ?  Do  I  not  knofc 
that  with  all  this  ostentation  of  examining  the  grounds  of  the 
institution,  he  will  do  no  such  thing  ?  Do  I  not  know  that  be 


0  EMERSON'S  ES8AW. 

Is  pledged  to  himself  not  to  look  out  at  one  side;  the  per. 
toitted  side,  not  as  a  man,  but  as  a  parish  minister  ?  He  is  a 
retained  attorney,  and  these  airs  of  the  bench  are  the  emptiest 
affectation.  Well,  most  men  have  bound  their  eyes  with  one 
Or  another  handkerchief,  and  attached  themselves  to  some  one 
of  these  communities  of  opinion.  This  conformity  makes  them 
cot  false  in  a  few  particulars,  authors  of  a  few  lies,  but  false 
m  ail  particulars.  Their  every  truth  is  not  quite  true.  Their 
two  is  not  the  real  two,  their  four  not  the  real  four :  so  that 
3very  word  they  say  chagrins  us,  and  we  know  not  where  to 
begin  to  set  them  right.  Meantime  nature  is  not  slow  to  equip 
us  in  the  prison-uniform  of  the  party  to  which  we  adhere.  We 
come  to  wear  one  cut  of  face  and  figure,  and  acquire  by  de» 
grees  the  gentlest  asinine  expression.  There  is  a  mortifying 
experience  in  particular  which  does  not  fail  to  wreak  itself  also 
in  the  general  history ;  I  mean,  "  the  foolish  face  of  praise," 
the  forced  smile  which  we  put  on  in  company  where  we  do  not 
.eel  at  ease  in  answer  to  conversation  which  does  not  interest 
us.  The  muscles,  not  spontaneously  moved,  but  moved  by  a 
low  usurping  wilfulness,  grow  tight  about  the  outline  of  the 
face  and  make  the  most  disagreeable  sensation,  a  sensation  of 
rebuke  and  warning  which  no  brave  young  man  will  suffe . 
twice. 

For  non-conformity  the  world  whips  you  Trith  its  displeas- 
ure. And  therefore  a  man  must  know  how  to  estimate  a  sour 
face.  The  bystanders  look  askance  on  him  in  the  public  street 
or  in  the  friend's  parlor.  If  this  aversation  had  its  origin  in 
contempt  and  resistance  like  his  own,  he  might  well  go  home 
with  a  sad  countenance  ;  but  the  sour  faces  of  the  multitude, 
like  their  sweet  faces,  have  no  deep  cause, — disguise  no  god, 
but  are  put  on  and  off  as  the  wind  blows,  and  a  newspaper  di- 
rects. Yet  is  the  discontent  of  the  multitude  more  formidable 
than  that  of  the  senate  and  the  college.  It  is  easy  enough  for 
a  firm  man  who  knows  the  world  to  brook  the  rage  of  the  cul- 
tivated classes.  Their  rage  is  decorous  and  prudent,  for  they 
are  timid  as  being  veiy  vulnerable  themselves.  But  when  to 
their  feminine  rage  the  indignation  of  the  people  is  added, 
when  the  ignorant  and  the  poor  are  aroused,  when  the  unintel- 
ligent brute  force  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  society  is  made  to 
growl  and  mow,  it  needs  the  habit  of  magnanimity  and  religion 
to  treat  it  godlike  as  a  trifle  of  no  concernment. 

The  other  terror  that  scares  us  from  self-trust  is  our  consist- 
ency ;  a  reverence  for  our  past  act  or  word,  because  the  eyes 
of  others  have  no  other  data  for  computing  our  orbit  than  our 
gast  acts,  and  we  are  loath  to  disaopoint  them. 


SELF-RELIANCE.  38 

But  why  should  you  keep  your  head  over  your  shoulder? 
Why  drag  about  this  monstrous  corpse  of  your  memorj^,  lest 
you  contradict  somewhat  you  have  stated  in  this  or  that  pub- 
lic place?  Suppose  you  should  contradict  yourself;  what 
then?  It  seems  to  be  a  rule  of  wisdom  never  to  rely  on  your 
memory  alone,  scarcely  even  in  acts  of  pure  memory,  but  bring 
the  past  for  judgment  into  the  thousand-eyed  present,  and  live 
ever  in  a  new  day.  Trust  your  emotion.  In  your  metaphysics 
you  have  denied  personality  to  the  Deity  :  yet  when  the  de- 
vout motions  of  the  soul  come,  yield  to  them  heart  and  life, 
though  they  should  clothe  God  with  shape  and  color.  Leave 
your  theory  as  Joseph  his  coat  in  the  hand  of  the  harlot,  and 
flee. 

A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds,  adored 
by  little  statesmen  and  philosophers  and  divines.  With  con- 
sistency a  great  soul  has  simply  nothing  to  do.  He  may  as 
well  concern  himself  with  his  shadow  on  the  wall.  Out  upon 
your  guarded  lips  !  Sew  them  up  with  packthread,  do.  Else, 
if  you  would  I>e  a  man,  speak  what  you  think  to-day  in  words 
as  hard  as  cannon  balls,  and  to-morrow  speak  what  to-morrow 
thinks  in  hard  words  again,  though  it  contradict  every  thing 
you  said  to-day.  Ah,  then,  exclaim  the  aged  ladies,  you  shall 
be  sure  to  be  misunderstood.  Misunderstood  1  It  is  a  right 
fool's  word.  Is  it  so  Ind  then  to  be  misunderstood  ?  Pythag- 
oras was  misunderstood,  and  Socrates,  and  Jesus,  and  Luther, 
and  Copernicus,  and  Galileo,  and  Newton,  and  every  pure  and 
wise  spirit  that  ever  took  flesh.  To  be  great  is  to  b°.  misun. 
derstood. 

I  suppose  no  man  can  violate  his  nature.  All  the  sallies  of 
his  will  are  rounded  in  by  the  law  of  his  being  as  the  inequali- 
ties of  Andes  and  Himmaleh  are  insignificant  in  the  curve  of 
the  sphere.  Nor  does  it  matter  how  you  gauge  and  try  him. 
A  character  is  like  an  acrostic  or  Alexandrian  stanza  ; — read 
it  forward,  backward,  or  across,  it  still  spells  the  same  thing. 
In  this  pleasing  contrite  wood-life  which  God  allows  me,  left 
me  record  day  by  day  my  honest  thought  without  prospect  or 
retrospect,  and,  I  cannot  doubt,  it  will  be  found  symmetrical, 
though  I  mean  it  no* ,  and  see  it  not.  My  book  should  smell 
of  pines  and  resound  with  the  hum  of  insects.  The  swallow 
over  my  window  should  interweave  that  thread  or  straw  he 
carries  in  his  bill  into  my  web  also.  We  pass  for  what  we  are. 
Character  teaches  above  our  wills.  Men  imagine  that  they 
communicate  their  virtue  or  vice  only  bj*  overt  actions  and  do 
not  see  that  virtue  or  vice  emit  a  breath  every  moment. 

Vear  never  but  vou  shall  be  consistent  in  whatever  variety 


84  KMER80WS  E8SAT& 

of  actions,  so  they  be  each  honest  and  natural  in  their  honi. 
For  of  one  will,  the  actions  will  be  harmonious,  however  un* 
like  they  seem.  These  varieties  are  lost  sight  of  when  seen  at 
f,  little  distance,  at  a  little  height  of  thought.  One  tendency 
unites  them  all.  The  voyage  of  the  best  ship  is  a  zigzag  line 
of  a  hundred  tacks.  This  is  only  microscopic  criticism.  See 
the  line  from  a  sufficient  distance,  and  it  straightens  itself  to 
tbe  average  tendency.  Your  genuine  action  will  explain  itself 
and  will  explain  your  other  genuine  actions.  Your  conformity 
Bxplains  nothing.  Act  singly,  and  what  you  have  already 
.tone  singly,  will  justify  you  now.  Greatness  always  appeals 
to  the  future.  If  I  can  be  great  enough  now  to  do  right  and 
scorn  eyes,  I  must  have  done  so  much  right  before,  as  to  de- 
fend me  now.  Be  it  how  it  will,  do  right  now.  Always  scorn 
appearances,  and  you  always  may.  The  force  of  character  is 
cumulative.  All  the  forgone  days  of  virtue  work  their  health 
into  this.  What  makes  the  majesty  of  the  heroes  of  the  senate 
and  the  field,  which  so  fills  the  imagination  ?  The  conscious- 
ness of  a  train  of  great  days  and  victories  behind.  There  they 
all  stand  and  shed  an  united  light  on  the  advancing  actor.  He 
is  attended  as  by  a  visible  escort  of  angels  to  every  man's  eye. 
That  is  it  which  throws  thunder  into  Chatham's  voice,  and 
dignity  into  Washington's  port,  and  America  into  Adams's 
eye.  Honor  is  venerable  to  us  because  it  is  no  ephemeris.  It 
is  always  ancient  virtue.  We  worship  it  to-day,  because  it  is 
not  of  to-day.  We  love  it  and  pay  it  homage,  because  it  is 
not  a  trap  for  our  love  and  homage,  but  is  self-dependent,  self- 
derived,  and  therefore  of  an  old  immaculate  pedigree,  even  if 
shown  in  a  young  person. 

I  hope  in  these  days  we  have  heard  the  last  of  conformity 
and  consistency.  Let  the  words  be  gazetted  and  ridiculous 
henceforward.  Instead  of  the  gong  for  dinner,  let  us  hear  a 
whistle  from  the  Spartan  fife.  Let  us  bow  and  apologize  never 
more.  A  great  man  is  coming  to  eat  at  my  house.  I  do  not 
wish  to  please  him  :  I  wish  that  he  should  wish  to  please  me. 
I  will  stand  here  for  humanity,  and  though  I  would  make  it 
kind,  I  would  make  it  true.  Let  us  affront  and  reprimand  the 
smooth  mediocrity  and  squalid  contentment  of  the  times,  and 
hurl  in  the  face  of  custom,  and  trade,  and  office,  the  fact  which 
is  the  upshot  of  all  history,  that  there  is  a  great  responsible 
Thinker  and  Actor  moving  wherever  moves  a  man ;  that  a 
true  man  belongs  to  no  other  time  or  place,  but  is  the  centre 
of  things.  Where  he  is,  there  is  nature.  He  measures  you, 
and  all  men,  and  all  events.  You  are  constrained  to  accept 
his  standard.  Ordinarily  every  body  in  society  reminds  us  of 


8ELF-RELJANCE.  tt 

somewhat  ei^  or  of  some  other  person.  Character,  reality, 
reminds  you  of  nothing  else.  It  takes  place  of  the  whole  crea« 
tion.  The  man  must  be  so  much  that  he  must  make  all  cir- 
cumstances indifferent, — put  all  means  into  the  shade.  This 
all  great  men  are  and  do.  Every  true  man  is  a  cause,  a  coun- 
try, and  an  age  ;  requires  infinite  spaces  and  numbers  and 
time  fully  to  accomplish  his  thought ; — and  posterity  seem  to 
follow  his  steps  as  a  procession.  A  man  Caesar  is  born,  and 
for  ages  after,  we  have  a  Roman  Empire.  Christ  is  born,  and 
millions  of  minds  so  grow  and  cleave  to  his  genius,  that  he  is 
confounded  with  virtue  and  the  possible  of  man.  An  institu- 
tion is  the  lengthened  shadow  of  one  man ;  as,  the  Reforma- 
tion, of  Luther  ;  Quakerism,  of  Fox  ;  Methodism,  of  Wesley  ; 
Abolition,  of  Clarkson.  Scipio,  Milton  called  "  the  height  of 
Rome ;  "  and  all  history  resolves  itself  very  easily  into  the  bi- 
ography of  a  few  stout  and  earnest  persons. 

Let  a  man  then  know  his  worth,  and  keep  things  under  ni8 
feet.  Let  him  not  peep  or  steal,  or  skulk  up  and  down  with 
the  air  of  a  charity -boy,  a  bastard,  or  an  interloper,  in  the 
world  which  exists  for  him.  But  the  man  in  the  street  find- 
ing no  worth  in  himself  which  corresponds  to  the  force  which 
built  a  tower  or  sculptured  a  marble  god,  feels  poor  when  he 
looks  on  these.  To  him  a  palace,  a  statue,  or  a  costly  book 
have  an  alien  and  forbidding  air,  much  like  a  gay  equipage, 
and  seem  to  say  like  that, '  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  '  Yet  they  all 
are  his,  suitors  for  his  notice,  petitioners  to  his  faculties  that 
they  will  come  out  and  take  possession.  The  picture  waits 
for  my  verdict :  it  is  not  to  command  me,  but  I  am  to  settle 
its  claims  to  praise.  That  popular  fable  of  the  sot  who  was 
picked  up  dead  drunk  in  the  street,  carried  to  the  duke's 
house,  washed  and  dressed  and  laid  in  the  duke's  bed,  and,  on 
his  waking,  treated  with  all  obsequious  ceremony  like  the 
duke,  and  assured  that  he  had  been  insane, — owes  its  popu- 
larity to  the  fact,  that  it  symbolizes  so  well  the  state  of  man, 
who  is  in  the  world  a  sort  of  sot,  but  now  and  then  wakes  up, 
exercises  his  reason,  and  finds  himself  a  true  prince. 

Our  reading  is  mendicant  and  sycophantic.  In  history, 
our  imagination  makes  fools  of  us,  plays  us  false.  Kingdom 
and  lordship,  power  and  estate  are  a  gaudier  vocabulary  than 
private  John  and  Edward  in  a  small  house  and  common  day's 
work :  but  the  things  of  life  are  the  same  to  both :  the  sum 
total  of  both  is  the  same.  Why  all  this  deference  to  Alfred, 
and  Scanderbeg,  and  Gustavus  ?  Suppose  they  were  virtu- 
ous :  did  they  wear  out  virtue  ?  As  great  a  stake  depends  on 
your  private  act  to-day,  as  followed  their  public  and  renowned 


38  JEl.S&SON'S  ESSAYS. 

steps.  When  private  men  shall  act  with  vast  views,  the 
lustre  will  be  transferred  from  the  actions  of  kings  to  those 
of  gentlemen. 

The  world  has  indeed  been  instructed  by  its  kings,  who 
have  so  magnetized  the  eyes  of  nations.  It  has  been  taught 
by  this  colossal  symbol  the  mutual  reverence  that  is  due  from 
man  to  man.  The  joyful  loyalty  with  which  men  have  every 
where  suffered  the  king,  the  noble,  or  the  great  proprietor  tc 
walk  among  them  by  a  law  of  his  own,  make  his  own  scale  of 
men  and  things,  and  reverse  theirs,  pay  for  benefits  not  with 
monsy  but  with  honor,  and  represent  the  Law  in  his  person, 
was  the  hieroglyphic  by  which  they  obscurely  signified  their 
consciousness  of  their  own  right  and  comeliness,  the  right  of 
every  man. 

The  magnetism  which  all  original  action  exerts  is  explained 
when  we  inquire  the  reason  of  self-trust.  Who  is  the 
Trustee  ?  What  is  the  aboriginal  Self  on  which  a  universal 
reliance  may  be  grounded  ?  What  is  the  nature  and  power 
of  that  science-baffling  star,  without  parallax,  without  cal- 
culable elements,  which  shoots  a  ray  of  beauty  even  into 
trivial  and  impure  actions,  if  the  least  mark  of  independence 
appear?  The  inquiry  leads  us  to  that  source,  at  once  the 
essence  of  genius,  the  essence  of  virtue,  and  the  essence  of 
life,  which  we  call  Spontaneity  or  Instinct.  We  denote  this 
primary  wisdom  as  Intuition,  whilst  all  later  teachings  are 
tuitions.  In  that  deep  force,  the  last  fact  behind  which  anal- 
ysis cannot  go,  all  things  find  their  common  origin.  For  the 
sense  of  being  which  in  calm  hours  rises,  we  know  not  how, 
in  the  soul,  is  not  diverse  from  things,  from  space,  from  light, 
from  time,  from  man,  but  one  with  them,  and  proceedeth  ob- 
viously from  the  same  source  whence  their  life  and  being  also 
proceedeth.  We  first  share  the  life  by  which  things  exist, 
and  afterwards  see  them  as  appearances  in  nature,  and  forget 
that  we  have  shared  their  cause.  Here  is  the  fountain  of  ac- 
tion and  the  fountain  of  thought.  Here  are  the  lungs  of  that 
inspiration  which  giveth  man  wisdom,  of  that  inspiration  of 
man  which  cannot  be  denied  without  impiety  and  atheism. 
We  lie  in  the  lap  of  immense  intelligence,  which  makes  us 
organs  of  its  activity  and  receivers  of  its  truth.  When  we 
discern  justice,  when  we  discern  truth,  we  do  nothing  of  our- 
selves, but  allow  a  passage  to  its  beams.  If  we  ask  whence 
this  comes,  if  we  seek  to  pry  into  th«  soul  that  causes, — all 
metaphysics,  all  philosophy  is  at  fault.  Its  presence  or  its 
absence  is  all  we  can  affirm.  Every  man  discerns  between 
the  voluntary  acts  of  Ma  mind,  and  bis  involuntary  percep- 


SELF-RELIANCE.  83 

lions.  And  to  his  involuntary  perceptions,  lie  Knows  a  per^ 
feet  respect  is  due.  He  may  err  in  the  expression  of  them, 
but  he  knows  that  these  things  are  so,  like  day  and  night,  not 
to  be  disputed.  All  my  wilful  actions  and  acquisitions  are 
but  roving ; — the  most  trivial  reverie,  the  faintest  native  emo- 
tion are  domestic  and  divine.  Thoughtless  people  contradict 
as  readily  the  statement  of  perceptions  as  of  opinions,  o; 
rather  much  more  readily ;  for,  they  do  not  distinguish  be 
tween  perception  and  notion.  They  fancy  that  I  choose  ti 
see  this  or  that  thing.  But  perception  is  not  whimsical,  but 
fatal.  If  I  see  a  trait,  my  children  will  see  it  after  me,  and 
in  course  of  time,  all  mankind, — although  it  may  chance  that 
no  one  has  seen  it  before  me.  For  my  perception  of  it  is  as 
much  a  fact  as  the  sun. 

The  relations  of  the  soul  to  the  divine  spirit  are  so  pure 
that  it  is  profane  to  seek  to  interpose  helps.  It  must  be  that 
when  God  speaketh,  he  should  communicate  not  one  thing,  but 
all  things  ;  should  fill  the  world  with  his  voice  ;  should  scatter 
forth  light,  nature,  time,  souls,  from  the  centre  of  the  present 
thought ;  and  new  date  and  new  create  the  whole.  Whenever 
a  mind  is  simple,  and  receives  a  divine  wisdom,  then  old 
things  pass  away, — means,  teachers,  texts,  temples  fall ;  it 
lives  now  and  absorbs  past  and  future  into  the  present  hour. 
All  things  are  made  sacred  by  relation  to  it, — one  thing  as 
much  as  another.  All  things  are  dissolved  to  their  centre  by 
their  cause,  and  in  the  universal  miracle  petty  and  particular 
miracles  disappear.  This  is  and  must  be.  If,  therefore,  a 
.nan  claims  to  know  and  speak  of  God,  and  carries  you  back- 
ward to  the  phraseology  of  some  old  mouldered  nation  in  an- 
other country,  in  another  world,  believe  him  not.  Is  the 
acorn  better  than  the  oak  which  is  its  fulness  and  completion  ? 
Is  the  parent  better  than  the  child  into  whom  he  has  cast  his 
ripened  being  ?  Whence  then  this  worship  of  the  past  ?  The 
centuries  are  conspirators  against  the  sanity  and  majesty  of 
the  soul.  Time  and  space  are  but  physiological  colors  which 
the  eye  maketh,  but  the  soul  is  light ;  where  it  is,  is  day  j 
where  it  was,  is  night ;  and  history  is  an  impertinence  and  an 
Injury,  if  it  be  anything  more  than  a  cheerful  apologue  or 
parable  of  my  being  and  becoming. 

Man  is  timid  and  apologetic.  He  is  no  longer  upright.  He 
dares  not  say  '  I  think,' '  I  am,'  but  quotes  some  saint  or  sage. 
He  is  ashamed  before  the  blade  of  grass  or  the  blowing  rose. 
These  roses  under  my  window  make  no  reference  to  former 
roses  or  to  better  ones  ;  they  are  for  what  they  are  ;  they  exist 
With  God  to-day.  There  is  no  time  to  them.  There  is  simply 


ft  EMERSOX'S  ESSAYS. 

the  rose ;  it  is  perfect  in  every  moment  of  its  existence.  Be« 
fore  a  leaf-bud  has  burst,  its  whole  life  acts  ;  in  the  full-blown 
flower,  there  is  110  more  ;  in  the  leafless  root,  there  is  no  less. 
Its  nature  is  satisfied,  and  it  satisfies  nature,  in  all  moments 
alike.  There  is  no  time  to  it.  But  man  postpones  or  remem- 
bers ;  he  does  not  live  in  the  present,  but  with  reverted  eye 
laments  the  past,  or,  heedless  of  the  riches  that  surround  him, 
stands  on  tiptoe  to  foresee  the  future.  He  cannot  be  happy 
and  strong  until  he  too  lives  with  nature  in  the  present ,  above 
time. 

This  should  be  plain  enough.  Yet  see  what  strong  intellects 
dare  not  yet  hear  God  himself,  unless  he  speak  the  phrase- 
ology of  I  know  not  what  David,  or  Jeremiah,  or  Paul.  We 
shall  not  always  set  so  great  a  price  on  a  few  texts,  on  a  few 
lives.  We  are  like  children  who  repeat  by  rote  the  sentences 
of  grandames  and  tutors,  and,  as  they  grow  older,  of  the  men 
of  talents  and  character  they  chance  to  see, — painfully  recol* 
lecting  the  exact  words  they  spoke  ;  afterwards,  when  they 
come  into  the  point  of  view  which  those  had  who  uttered  these 
sayings,  they  understand  them,  and  are  willing  to  let  the 
words  go ;  for,  at  any  time,  they  can  use  words  as  good,  wheD 
occasion  comes.  So  was  it  with  us,  so  will  it  be,  if  we  proceed. 
If  we  live  truly,  we  shall  see  truly.  It  is  as  easy  for  the 
strong  man  to  be  strong,  as  it  is  for  the  weak  to  be  weak. 
When  we  have  new  perception,  we  shall  gladly  disburthen  the 
memory  of  its  hoarded  treasures  as  old  rubbish.  When  a  man 
lives  with  God,  his  voice  shall  be  as  sweet  as  the  murmur  of 
the  brook  and  the  rustle  of  the  corn. 

And  now  at  last  the  highest  truth  on  this  subject  remains 
nnsaid ;  probably,  cannot  be  said ;  for  all  that  we  say  is  the 
iar  off  remembering  of  the  intuition.  That  thought,  by  what 
I  can  now  nearest  approach  to  say  it,  is  this.  When  good  is 
;iear  you,  when  you  have  life  in  yourself, — it  is  not  by  any 
known  or  appointed  way ;  you  shall  not  discern  the  footprints 
of  any  other ;  you  shall  not  see  the  face  of  man ;  you  shall 
not  hear  any  name ; — the  way,  the  thought,  the  good  shall  be 
wholly  strange  and  new.  It  shall  exclude  all  other  being. 
You  take  the  way  from  man  not  to  man.  All  persons  that 
ever  existed  are  its  fugitive  ministers.  There  shall  be  no  fear 
in  it.  Fear  and  hope  are  alike  beneath  it.  It  asks  nothing. 
There  is  somewhat  low  even  in  hope.  We  are  then  in  vision, 
There  is  nothing  that  can  be  called  gratitude  nor  properly  joy. 
The  soul  is  raised  over  passion.  It  seeth  identity  and  eternal 
causation.  It  is  a  perceiving  that  Truth  and  Right  are. 
Hence  it  becomes  a  Tranquillity  out  of  the  knowing  that  all 


SELF-RELIANCE.  39 

things  go  well.  Vast  spaces  of  nature ;  the  Atlantic  Ocean, 
the  South  Sea  ;  vast  intervals  of  time,  years,  centuries,  are  of 
no  account.  This  which  I  think  and  feel,  underlay  that 
former  state  of  life  and  circumstances,  as  it  does  underlie  my 
present,  and  will  always  all  circumstance,  and  what  is  called 
life,  and  what  is  called  death. 

Life  only  avails,  not  the  having  lived.  Power  ceases  in  the 
instant  of  repose  ;  it  resides  in  the  moment  of  transition  from 
a  past  to  a  new  state  ;  in  the  shooting  of  the  gulf ;  in  the  dart< 
ing  to  an  aim.  This  one  fact  the  world  hates,  that  the  ^oul 
becomes  ;  for,  that  forever  degrades  the  past ;  turns  all  riches 
to  poverty ;  all  reputation  to  a  shame ;  confounds  the  saint 
with  the  rogue ;  shoves  Jesus  and  Judas  equally  aside.  Why 
then  do  we  prate  of  self-reliance  ?  Inasmuch  as  the  soul  is 
present,  there  will  be  power  not  confident  but  agent.  To  talk 
of  reliance,  is  a  poor  external  way  of  speaking.  Speak 
rather  of  that  which  relies,  because  it  works  and  is.  Who  has 
more  soul  than  I,  masters  me,  though  he  should  not  raise  his 
finger.  Round  him  I  must  revolve  by  the  gravitation  of 
spirits  ;  who  has  less,  I  rule  with  like  facility.  We  fancy  it 
rhetoric  when  we  speak  of  eminent  virtue.  We  do  not  yet 
see  that  virtue  is  Height,  and  that  a  man  or  a  company  of 
men  plastic  and  permeable  to  principles,  by  the  law  of  nature 
must  overpower  and  ride  all  cities,  nations,  kings,  rich  men, 
poets,  who  are  not. 

This  is  the  ultimate  fact  which  we  so  quickly  reach  on  this 
as  on  every  topic,  the  resolution  of  all  into  the  ever  blessed 
ONE.  Virtue  is  the  governor,  the  creator,  tke  reality.  All 
things  real  are  so  by  so  much  of  virtue  as  they  contain. 
Hardship,  husbandry,  hunting,  whaling,  war,  eloquence,  per- 
sonal weight,  ^re  somewhat,  and  engage  my  respect  as  ex- 
umples  of  the  soul's  presence  and  impure  action.  I  see  the 
same  law  working  in  nature  for  conservation  and  growth. 
The  poise  of  a  planet,  the  bended  tree  recovering  itself  from 
the  strong  wind,  the  vital  resources  of  every  vegetable  and 
animal,  are  also  demonstrations  of  the  self-sufficing,  and  there- 
fore self-relying  soul.  All  history  from  its  highest  to  its  triv« 
ial  passages  is  the  various  record  of  this  power. 

Thus  all  concentrates  ;  let  us  not  rove ;  let  us  sit  at  home 
«vith  the  cause.  Let  us  stun  and  astonish  the  intruding 
rabble  of  men  and  books  and  institutions  by  a  simple  declara- 
tion of  the  divine  fact.  Bid  them  take  the  shoes  from  off  their 
feet,  for  God  is  here  within.  Let  our  simplicity  judge  them, 
and  our  docility  to  our  own  law  demonstrate  the  poverty  of 
nature  and  fortune  beside  our  native  riches. 


ESSAYS. 

But  now  we  are  a  mot).    Man  does  not  stand  in  awa  of  man, 

nor  is  the  soul  admonished  to  stay  at  home,  to  put  itself  in 
communication  with  the  internal  ocean,  but  it  goes  abroad  to 
beg  a  cup  of  water  of  the  urns  of  men.  We  must  go  alone. 
Isolation  must  precede  true  society.  I  like  the  silent  church 
before  the  service  begins,  better  than  any  preaching.  How 
far  off,  how  cool,  how  chaste  the  persons  look,  begirt  each  one 
with  a  precinct  or  sanctuary.  So  let  us  always  sit.  Why 
should  we  assume  the  faults  of  our  friend,  or  wife,  or  father^ 
or  child,  because  they  sit  around  our  hearth,  or  are  said  to  have 
the  same  blood  ?  All  men  have  my  blood,  and  I  have  all 
men's.  Not  for  that  will  I  adopt  their  petulance  or  folly,  even 
to  the  extent  of  being  ashamed  of  it.  But  your  isolation 
must  not  be  mechanical,  but  spiritual,  that  is,  must  be  eleva- 
tion. At  times  the  whole  world  seems  to  be  in  conspiracy  to 
importune  you  with  emphatic  trifles.  Friend,  client,  child, 
sickness,  fear,  want,  charity,  all  knock  at  once  at  thy 
closet  door  and  say, '  Come  out  unto  us.' — Do  not  spill  thy 
soul ;  do  not  all  descend ;  keep  thy  state ;  stay  at  home  in 
thine  own  heaven  ;  come  not  for  a  moment  into  their  facts, 
into  their  hubbub  of  conflicting  appearances,  but  let  in  the 
light  of  thy  law  on  their  confusion.  The  power  men  possess 
to  annoy  me,  I  give  them  by  a  weak  curiosity.  No  man 
can  come  near  me  but  through  my  act.  "  W  hat  we  love  that 
we  have,  but  by  desire  we  bereave  ourselves  of  the  love." 

If  we  cannot  at  once  rise  to  the  sanctities  of  obedience  and 
faith,  let  us  at  least  resist  our  temptations,  let  us  enter  into 
the  state  of  war,  and  wake  Thor  and  Woden,  courage  and  con- 
stancy in  our  Saxon  breasts.  This  is  to  be  done  in  our  smooth 
times  by  speaking  the  truth.  Check  this  lying  hospitality 
and  lying  affection.  Live  no  longer  to  the  expectation  of 
these  deceived  and  deceiving  people  with  whom  we  converse. 
Say  to  them,  O  father,  O  mother,  0  wife,  0  brother,  0  friend, 
I  have  lived  with  you  after  appearances  hitherto.  Hencefor- 
ward I  am  the  truth's.  Be  it  known  unto  you  that  hencefor* 
ward  I  obey  no  law  less  than  the  eternal  law.  I  will  have  no 
covenants  but  proximities.  I  shall  endeavor  to  nourish  my 
parents,  to  support  my  family,  to  be  the  chaste  husband  of 
one  wife, — but  these  relations  I  must  fill  after  a  new  and  un« 
precedented  way.  I  appeal  from  your  customs.  I  must  be 
myself.  I  cannot  break  myself  any  longer  for  you,  or  you. 
If  you  can  love  me  for  what  I  am,  we  shall  be  the  happier.  If 
you  cannot,  I  will  still  seek  to  deserve  that  you  should.  I 
must  be  myself.  I  will  not  hide  my  tastes  or  aversions.  I 
trill  so  trust  that  what  is  deep  is  ho1-,  that  I  will  do  strong!? 


before  tlie  sun  and  moon  whatever  inly  rejoices  me^  and  the 
heart  appoints.  If  you  are  noble,  I  will  love  you  ;  if  you  are 
not,  I  will  not  hurt  you  and  myself  by  hypocritical  attentions. 
If  you  are  true,  but  not  in  the  same  truth  with  me,  cleave  to 
your  companions  ;  I  will  seek  my  own.  I  do  this  not  selfishly, 
but  humbly  and  truly.  It  is  alike  your  interest  and  mine  and 
all  men's,  however  long  we  have  dwelt  in  lies,  to  live  in  tr  .' a 
Does  this  sound  harsh  to-day  ?  You  will  soon  love  what  ii 
dictated  by  your  nature  as  well  as  mine,  and  if  we  follow  thf 
truth,  it  will  bring  us  out  safe  at  last. — But  so  you  may  giv- 
these  friends  pain.  Yes,  but  I  cannot  sell  my  liberty  and  my 
power,  to  save  their  sensibility.  Besides,  all  persons  have 
their  moments  of  reason  when  they  look  out  into  the  region  of 
absolute  truth;  then  will  they  justify  me  and  do  the  same 
thing. 

The  populace  think  that  your  rejection  of  popular  standards 
is  a  rejection  of  all  standard,  and  mere  antinomianism ;  and 
the  bold  sensualist  will  use  the  name  of  philosophy  to  gild  his 
crimes.  But  the  law  of  consciousness  abides.  There  are  two 
confessionals,  in  one  or  the  other  of  which  we  must  be  shriven. 
You  may  fulfil  your  round  of  duties  b}7  clearing  yourself  in 
the  direct,  or,  in  the  reflex  way.  Consider  whether  you  have 
satisfied  your  relations  to  father,  mother,  cousin,  neighbor, 
town,  cat,  and  dog ;  whether  any  of  these  can  upbraid  you. 
But  I  may  also  neglect  this  reflex  standard,  and  absolve  me  to 
myself.  I  have  my  own  stern  claims  and  perfect  circle.  It 
denies  the  name  of  duty  to  many  offices  that  are  called  duties. 
But  if  I  can  discharge  its  debts,  it  enables  me  to  dispense  with 
the  popular  code.  If  any  one  imagines  that  this  law  is  lax, 
let  him  keep  its  commandment  one  day. 

And  truly  it  demands  something  godlike  in  him  who  has 
cast  off  the  common  motives  of  humanity,  and  has  ventured 
to  trust  himself  for  a  task-master.  High  be  his  heart,  faithful 
Ms  will,  clear  his  sight,  that  he  may  in  good  earnest  be  doc- 
trine, society,  law  to  himself,  that  a  simple  purpose  may  be  to 
him  as  strong  as  iron  necessity  is  to  others. 

If  any  man  consider  the  present  aspects  of  what  is  called 
by  distinction  society,  he  will  see  the  need  of  these  ethics. 
The  sinew  and  heart  of  man  seem  to  be  drawn  out,  and  we  are 
become  timorous  desponding  whimperers.  We  are  afraid  of 
truth,  afraid  of  fortune,  afraid  of  death,  and  afraid  of  each 
other.  Our  age  yields  no  great  and  perfect  persons.  We 
want  men  and  women  who  shall  renovate  life  and  our  social 
state,  but  we  see  that  most  natures  are  insolvent ;  cannot 
satisfy  their  orn  wroits,  have  an  ambition  out  of  all  proportion 


m  EMERSON'S  ESSAY*. 

to  their  practical  force,  and  so  do  lean  and  beg  day  and  night 
continually.  Our  housekeeping  is  mendicant,  our  arts,  our 
occupations,  our  marriages,  our  religion  we  have  not  chosen, 
but  society  has  chosen  for  us.  We  are  parlor  soldiers.  The 
rugged  battle  of  fate,  where  strength  is  born,  we  shun. 

If  our  young  men  miscarry  in  their  first  enterprizes,  they 
lose  all  heart.  If  the  young  merchant  fails,  men  say  Le  is 
ruined.  If  the  finest  genius  studies  at  one  of  our  colleges,  and 
is  not  installed  in  an  office  within  one  year  afterwards  in  the 
cities  or  suburbs  of  Boston  or  New  York,  it  seems  to  hi& 
friends  and  to  himself  that  he  is  right  in  being  disheartened 
and  in  complaining  the  rest  of  his  life.  A  sturdy  lad  from 
New  Hampshire  or  Vermont,  who  in  turn  tries  all  the  pro- 
fessions, who  teams  it,  farms  it,  peddles,  keeps  a  school, 
preaches,  edits  a  newspaper,  goes  to  congress,  buys  a  town- 
ship, and  so  forth,  in  successive  years,  and  always,  like  a  cat, 
falls  on  his  feet,  is  worth  a  hundred  of  these  city  dolls.  He 
walks  abreast  with  his  days,  and  feels  no  shame  in  not '  study- 
ing a  profession,'  for  he  does  not  postpone  his  life,  but  lives 
already.  He  has  not  one  chance,  but  a  hundred  chances.  Let 
a  stoic  arise  who  shall  reveal  the  resources  of  man,  and  tell 
men  they  are  not  leaning  willows,  but  can  and  must  detach 
themselves ;  that  with  the  exercise  of  self-trust,  new  powers 
shall  appear ;  that  a  man  is  the  word  made  flesh,  born  to 
shed  healing  to  the  nations,  that  he  should  be  ashamed  of  our 
compassion,  and  that  the  moment  he  acts  from  himself,  tossing 
the  laws,  the  books,  idolatries,  and  customs  out  of  the  window, 
—we  pity  him  no  more  but  thank  and  revere  him, — and  that 
teacher  shall  restore  the  life  of  man  to  splendor,  and  make  his 
name  dear  to  all  History. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  a  greater  self-reliance, — a  new  respect 
for  the  divinity  in  man, — must  work  a  revolution  in  all  the 
offices  and  relations  of  men  ;  in  their  religion  ;  in  their  educa- 
tion; in  their  pursuits;  their  modes  of  living;  their  associa- 
tion ;  in  their  property  ;  in  their  speculative  views. 

1.  In  what  prayers  do  men  allow  themselves  !  That  which 
they  call  a  holy  office,  is  not  so  much  as  brave  and  manly. 
Prayer  looks  abroad  and  asks  for  some  foreign  addition  to 
come  through  some  foreign  virtue,  and  loses  itself  in  endless 
mazes  of  natural  and  supernatural,  and  mediatorial  and  mirac- 
ulous. Prayer  that  craves  a  particular  commodity — any  thing 
less  than  all  good,  is  vicious.  Prayer  is  the  contemplation  of 
the  facts  of  life  from  the  highest  point  of  view.  It  is  the  solit 
oquy  of  a  beholding  and  jubilant  soul.  It  is  the  spirit  of  God 
pronouncing  his  works  good.  But  prayer  as  a  means  to  effect 


SELF-RELIANCE.  43 

ft  private  end,  is  theft  and  meanness.  It  supposes  dualism 
and  not  unity  in  nature  and  consciousness.  As  soon  as  the 
man  is  at  one  with  God,  he  will  not  beg.  He  will  then  see 
prayer  in  all  action.  The  prayer  of  the  farmer  kneeling  in  his 
field  to  weed  it,  the  prayer  of  the  rower  kneeling  with  the 
stroke  of  his  oar,  are  true  prayers  heard  throughout  nature, 
though  for  cheap  ends.  Caratach,  in  Fletcher's  Bonduca, 
when  admonished  to  inquire  the  mind  of  the  god  Audate,  re 
plies, 

"  His  hidden  meaning  lies  in  our  endeavors 

Our  valort  are  our  best  gods." 

Another  sort  of  false  prayers  are  our  regrets.  Discontent 
is  the  want  of  self-reliance :  it  is  infirmity  of  will.  Regret 
calamities,  if  you  can  thereby  help  the  sufferer ;  if  not,  attend 
your  own  work,  and  already  the  evil  begins  to  be  repaired. 
Our  sympathy  is  just  as  base.  We  come  to  them  who  weep 
foolishly,  and  sit  down  and  cry  for  company,  instead  of  impart- 
ing to  them  truth  and  health  in  rough  electric  shocks,  putting 
them  once  more  in  communication  with  the  soul.  The  secret 
of  fortune  is  joy  in  our  hands.  Welcome  evermore  to  gods 
and  men  is  the  self-helping  man.  For  him  all  doors  are  flung 
wide.  Him  all  tongues  greet,  all  honors  crown,  all  eyes  follow 
with  desire.  Our  love  goes  out  to  him  and  embraces  him,  be- 
cause he  did  not  need  it.  We  solicitously  and  apologetically 
caress  and  celebrate  him,  because  he  held  on  his  way  and 
scorned  our  disapprobation.  The  gods  love  him  because  men 
hated  him.  "  To  the  persevering  mortal,"  said  Zoroaster, 
"  the  blessed  Immortals  are  swift." 

As  men's  prayers  are  a  disease  of  the  will,  so  are  their 
creeds  a  disease  of  the  intellect.  They  say  with  those  foolish 
Israelites, '  Let  not  God  speak  to  us,  lest  we  die.  Speak  thou, 
speak  any  man  with  us,  and  we  will  obey.'  Everywhere  I  am 
bereaved  of  meeting  God  in  my  brother,  because  he  has  shut 
his  own  temple  doors,  and  recites  fables  merely  of  his  brother's, 
or  his  brother's  brother's  God.  Every  new  mind  is  a  new 
classification.  If  it  prove  a  mind  of  uncommon  activity  and 
power,  a  Locke,  a  Lavoisier,  a  Button,  a  Bentham,  a  Spurz- 
heim,  it  imposes  its  classification  on  other  men,  and  lo!  a  new 
system.  In  proportion  always  to  the  depth  of  the  thought, 
and  so  to  the  number  of  the  objects  it  touches  and  brings 
within  reach  of  the  pupil,  is  his  complacency.  But  chiefly  is 
this  apparent  in  creeds  and  churches,  which  are  also  classifica- 
tions of  some  powerful  mind  acting  on  the  great  elemental 
thought  of  Duty,  and  mail's  relation  tc  tie  Highest.  Such  ia 


14  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

Calvinism,  Quakerism,  Swedenborgianism.  Ae  pupil  takes 
the  same  delight  in  subordinating  every  thing  to  the  new  ter- 
minology that  a  girl  does  who  has  just  learned  botany,  in  see- 
ing a  new  earth  and  new  seasons  thereby.  It  will  happen  for 
a  time,  that  the  pupil  will  feel  a  real  debt  to  the  teacher, — will 
find  his  intellectual  power  has  grown  by  the  -study  of  his  writ* 
ings.  This  will  continue  until  he  has  exhausted  his  master's 
mind.  But  in  all  unbalanced  minds,  the  classification  is  idol- 
ized, passes  for  the  end,  and  not  for  a  speedily  exhaustible 
means,  so  that  the  walls  of  the  system  blend  to  their  eye  in 
the  remote  horizon  with  the  walls  of  the  universe  ;  the  lumi- 
naries of  heaven  seem  to  them  hung  on  the  arch  their  master 
built.  They  cannot  imagine  how  you  aliens  have  any  right  to 
see, — how  you  can  see ;  '  It  must  be  somehow  that  you  stole 
the  light  from  us.'  The}'  do  not  yet  perceive,  that,  light  un- 
systematic, indomitable,  will  break  into  any  cabin,  even  into 
theirs.  Let  them  chirp  awhile  and  call  it  their  own.  If  they 
are  honest  and  do  well,  presently  their  neat  new  pinfold  will  be 
too  strait  and  low,  will  crack,  will  lean,  will  rot  and  vanish,  and 
the  immortal  light,  all  young  and  joyful,  million-orbed,  milliorj- 
colored,  will  beam  over  the  universe  as  on  the  first  morning. 

2.  It  is  for  want  of  self-culture  that  the  idol  of  Travelling, 
the  idol  of  Italy,  of  England,  of  Egypt,  remains  for  all  edu- 
cated Americans.  They  who  made  England,  Italy,  or  Greece 
venerable  in  the  imagination,  did  so  not  by  rambling  round 
creation  as  a  moth  round  a  lamp,  but  by  sticking  fast  where 
they  were,  like  an  axis  of  the  earth.  In  manly  hours,  we  feel 
that  duty  is  our  place,  and  that  the  merrymen  of  circumstance 
should  follow  as  they  may.  The  soul  is  no  traveller  :  the  wise 
man  stays  at  home  with  the  soul,  and  when  his  necessities,  his 
duties,  on  any  occasion  call  him  from  his  house,  or  into  foreign 
lands,  he  is  at  home  still,  and  is  not  gadding  abroad  from  him- 
self, and  shall  make  men  sensible  by  the  expression  of  his 
countenance,  that  he  goes  the  missionary  of  wisdom  ard  virtue, 
and  visits  cities  and  men  like  a  sovereign,  and  nc  like  an 
interloper  or  a  valet. 

I  have  no  churlish  objection  to  the  circumnavigation  of  the 
globe,  for  the  purposes  of  art,  of  study,  and  benevolence,  so  that 
the  man  is  first  domesticated,  or  does  not  go  abroad  with  the 
hope  of  finding  somewhat  greater  than  he  knows.  He  who 
travels  to  be  amused,  or  to  get  somewhat  which  he  does  not 
carry,  travels  away  from  himself,  and  grows  old  even  in  youth 
among  old  things.  In  Thebes,  in  Palmyra,  his  will  and  mind 
have  become  old  and  dilapidated  as  they.  He  carries  ruins  to 


SELF-RELIANCE.  45 

Travelling  is  a  fool's  paradise.  We  owe  to  our  first  journeys 
the  discovery  that  place  is  nothing.  At  home  I  dream  that  at 
Naples,  at  Rome,  I  can  be  intoxicated  with  beauty,  and  lose 
my  sadness.  I  pack  my  trunk,  embrace  my  friends,  embark 
on  the  sea,  and  at  last  wake  up  in  Naples,  and  there  beside  me 
is  the  stern  Fact,  the  sad  self,  unrelenting,  identical,  that  I 
fled  from.  I  seek  the  Vatican,  and  the  palaces.  I  affect  to  be 
intoxicated  with  sights  and  suggestions,  but  I  am  not  intoxi- 
cated. My  giant  goes  with  me  wherever  I  go. 

3.  But  the  rage  of  travelling  is  itself  only  a  symptom  of  a 
deeper  unsoimdness  affecting  the  whole  intellectual  action. 
The  intellect  is  vagabond,  and  the  universal  system  of  educa- 
tion fosters  restlessness.  Our  minds  travel  when  our  bodies 
are  forced  to  stay  at  home.  We  imitate ;  and  what  is  imita- 
tion but  the  travelling  of  the  mind?  Our  houses  are  built 
with  foreign  taste ;  our  shelves  are  garnished  with  foreign 
ornaments ;  our  opinions,  our  tastes,  our  whole  minds  lean, 
and  follow  the  Past  and  the  Distant,  as  the  eyes  of  a  maid  fol- 
low her  mistress.  The  soul  created  the  arts  wherever  they 
have  flourished.  It  was  in  his  own  mind  that  the  artist  sought 
his  model.  It  was  an  application  of  his  own  thought  to  the 
thing  to  be  done  and  the  conditions  to  be  observed.  And  why 
need  we  copy  the  Doric  or  the  Gothic  model  ?  Beauty,  con- 
venience, grandeur  of  thought,  and  quaint  expression  are  as 
near  to  us  as  to  any,  and  if  the  American  artist  will  study  with 
hope  and  love  the  precise  thing  to  be  done  by  him,  consider- 
ing the  climate,  the  soil,  the  length  of  the  daj7,  the  wants  of  the 
people,  the  habit  and  form  of  the  government,  he  will  create  a 
house  in  which  all  these  will  find  themselves  fitted,  and  taste 
and  sentiment  will  be  satisfied  also. 

Insist  on  yourself;  never  imitate.  Your  own  gift  you  can 
present  every  moment  with  the  cumulative  force  of  a  whole 
life's  cultivation ;  but  of  the  adopted  talent  of  another,  you 
have  only  an  extemporaneous,  half  possession.  That  which 
each  can  do  best,  none  but  his  Maker  can  teach  him.  No  man 
yet  knows  what  it  is,  nor  can,  till  that  person  has  exhibited  it. 
Where  is  the  master  who  could  have  taught  Shakspeare? 
Where  is  the  master  who  could  have  instructed  Franklin,  or 
Washington,  or  Bacon,  or  Newton?  Every  great  man  is  an 
unique.  The  Scipionism  of  Scipio  is  precisely  that  part  he 
could  not  borrow.  If  anybody  will  tell  me  whom  the  great 
man  imitates  in  the  original  crisis  when  he  performs  a  great 
act,  I  will  tell  him  who  else  than  himself  can  teach  him. 
Shakspeare  will  never  be  made  by  the  study  of  Shakspeare. 
Do  that  which  is  assigned  the"  +**  *lirt"  canst  not  hope  top 


«  WIE&SUN'S  ESSAYS. 

much  or  dare  too  much.  There  is  at  this  moment,  there  is  fof 
me  an  utterance  bare  and  grand  as  that  of  the  colossal  chisel 
of  Phidias,  or  trowel  of  the  Egyptians,  or  the  pen  of  Moses,  or 
Dante,  but  different  from  all  these.  Not  possibly  will  the  soul 
all  rich,  all  eloquent,  with  thousand-cloven  tongue,  deign  tore- 
peat  itself;  but  if  I  can  hear  what  these  patriarchs  say,  surely 
I  can  reply  to  them  in  the  same  pitch  of  voice  :  for  the  ear 
and  the  tongue  are  two  organs  of  one  nature.  Dwell  up  there 
in  the  simple  and  noble  regions  of  thy  life,  obey  thy  heart, 
and  thou  shalt  reproduce  the  Foreworld  again. 

4.  As  our  Religion,  our  Education,  our  Art  look  abroad,  so 
does  our  spirit  of  society.  All  men  plume  themselves  on  the 
improvement  of  society,  and  no  man  improves. 

Society  never  advances.  It  recedes  as  fast  on  one  side  as  it 
gains  on  the  other.  Its  progress  is  only  apparent,  like  the 
workers  of  a  treadmill.  It  undergoes  continual  changes  :  it 
is  barbarous,  it  is  civilized,  it  is  christianized,  it  is  rich,  it  is 
scientific ;  but  this  change  is  not  amelioration.  For  every 
thing  that  is  given,  something  is  taken.  Society  acquires  new 
arts  and  loses  old  instincts.  What  a  contrast  between  the 
well-clad,  reading,  writing,  thinking  American,  with  a  watch, 
a  pencil,  and  a  bill  of  exchange  in  his  pocket,  and  the  naked 
New  Zealander,  whose  property  is  a  club,  a  spear,  a  mat,  and 
an  undivided  twentieth  of  a  shed  to  sleep  under.  But  com- 
pare  the  health  of  the  two  men,  and  you  shall  see  that  his 
aboriginal  strength  the  white  man  has  lost.  If  the  traveller 
tell  us  truly,  strike  the  savage  with  a  broad  axe,  and  in  a  day 
or  two  the  flesh  shall  unite  and  heal  as  if  you  struck  the  blow 
into  soft  pitch,  and  the  same  blow  shall  send  the  white  to  his 
grave. 

The  civilized  man  has  built  a  coach,  but  has  lost  the  use  of 
his  feet.  He  is  supported  on  crutches,  but  loses  so  much  sup- 
port of  muscle.  He  has  got  a  fine  Geneva  watch,  but  he  has 
lost  the  skill  to  tell  the  hour  by  the  sun.  A  Greenwich  nauti- 
cal almanac  he  has,  and  so  being  sure  of  the  information  when 
he  wants  it,  the  man  in  the  street  does  not  know  a  star  in  the 
sky.  The  solstice  he  does  not  observe  ;  the  equinox  he  knows 
as  little ;  and  the  whole  bright  calendar  of  the  year  is  without 
a  dial  in  his  mind.  His  note-books  impair  his  memory  ;  his 
libraries  overload  his  wit ;  the  insurance  office  increases  the 
number  of  accidents ;  and  it  may  be  a  question  whether  ma- 
chinery does  not  encumber  ;  whether  we  have  not  lost  by  re- 
finement some  energy,  by  a  Christianity  entrenched  in  estab- 
lishments and  forms,  some  vigor  of  wild  virtue.  For  every 
gtoic  was  a  stoic ;  but  in  Christendom  where  is  the  Christian! 


VKLF-BELJANC&  41 

There  is  no  more  deviation  in  the  moral  standard  than  in  the 
Itandard  of  height  or  bulk.  No  greater  men  are  now  than 
ever  were.  A  singular  equality  may  be  observed  between  the 
great  men  of  the  first  and  of  the  last  ages ;  nor  can  all  the 
science,  art,  religion  and  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth  century 
avail  to  educate  greater  men  than  Plutarch's  heroes,  three  or 
four  and  twenty  centuries  ago.  Not  in  time  is  the  race  pro- 
gressive. Phocion,  Socrates,  Anaxagoras,  Diogenes,  are  great 
men,  but  they  leave  no  class.  He  who  is  really  of  their  class 
will  not  be  called  by  their  name,  but  be  wholly  his  own  man, 
and,  .in  his  turn  the  founder  of  a  sect.  The  arts  and  inven- 
tions of  each  period  are  only  its  costume,  and  do  not  invigorate 
men.  The  harm  of  the  improved  machinery  may  compensate 
its  good.  Hudson  and  Bearing  accomplished  so  much  in  theii 
fishing-boats,  as  to  astonish  Parry  and  Franklin,  whose  equip- 
ment  exhausted  the  resources  of  science  and  art.  Galileo, 
with  an  opera-glass,  discovered  a  more  splendid  series  of  facts 
than  any  one  since.  Columbus  found  the  New  World  in  an 
undecked  boat.  It  is  curious  to  see  the  periodical  disuse  and 
perishing  of  means  and  machinery  which  were  introduced  with 
loud  laudation,  a  few  years  or  centuries  before.  The  great 
genius  returns  to  essential  man.  We  reckoned  the  improve* 
ments  of  the  art  of  war  among  the  triumphs  of  science,  and 
yet  Napoleon  conquered  Europe  by  the  Bivouac,  which  con* 
sisted  of  falling  back  on  naked  valor,  and  disencumbering  it 
of  all  aids.  The  Emperor  held  it  impossible  to  make  a  perfect 
army,  says  Las  Casas,  "  without  abolishing  our  arms,  maga 
zines,  commissaries,  and  carriages,  until  in  imitation  of  the 
Roman  custom,  the  soldier  should  receive  his  supply  of  corn, 
grind  it  in  his  hand-mill,  and  bake  his  bread  himself." 

Society  is  a  wave.  The  wave  moves  onward,  but  the  water 
of  which  it  is  composed,  does  not.  The  same  particle  does 
not  rise  from  the  valley  to  the  ridge.  Its  unity  is  only  phe- 
nomenal. The  persons  who  make  up  a  nation  to-day,  next 
year  die,  and  their  experience  with  them. 

And  so  the  reliance  on  Property,  including  the  reliance  on 
governments  which  protect  it,  is  the  want  of  self-reliance. 
Men  have  looked  away  from  themselves  and  at  things  so  long, 
that  they  have  come  to  esteem  what  they  call  the  soul's  prog- 
ress, namely,  the  religious,  learned,  and  civil  institutions,  as 
guards  of  property,  and  they  deprecate  assaults  on  these,  be- 
cause they  feel  them  to  be  assaults  on  property.  They  meas- 
ure their  esteem  of  each  other,  by  what  each  has,  and  not  by 
what  each  is.  But  a  cultivated  man  becomes  ashamed  of  his 
property,  ashamed  of  what  be  has,  out  of  new  respect  for  b*» 


being.  Especially  he  hates  what  he  has,  if  he  see  that  it  u> 
accidental, — came  to  him  by  inheritance,  or  gift)  or  crime; 
then  he  feels  that  it  is  not  having ;  it  does  not  belong  to  him, 
has  no  root  in  him,  and  merely  lies  there,  because  no  revolu- 
tion or  no  robber  takes  it  away.  But  that  which  a  man  is, 
does  always  by  necessity  acquire,  and  what  the  man  acquires 
is  permanent  and  living  property,  which  does  not  wait  the 
beck  of  rulers,  or  mobs,  or  revolutions,  or  fire,  or  storm,  or 
bankruptcies,  but  perpetually  renews  itself  wherever  the  man 
is  put.  "  Thy  lot  or  portion  of  life,"  said  the  Caliph  Ah\  "  is 
seeking  after  thee ;  therefore  be  at  rest  from  seeking  after  it." 
Our  dependence  on  these  foreign  goods  leads  us  to  our  slavish 
respect  for  numbers.  The  political  parties  meet  in  numerous 
conventions ;  the  greater  the  concourse,  and  with  each  new 
uproar  of  announcement,  The  delegation  from  Essex  1  The 
Democrats  from  New  Hampshire  1  The  Whigs  of  Maine !  the 
young  patriot  feels  himself  stronger  than  before  by  a  new 
thousand  of  eyes  and  arms.  In  like  manner  the  reformers 
summon  conventions,  and  vote  and  resolve  in  multitude.  But 
not  so,  O  friends !  will  the  God  deign  to  enter  and  inhabit 
you,  but  by  a  method  precisely  the  reverse.  It  is  only  as  a 
man  puts  off  from  himself  all  external  support,  and  stands 
alone,  that  I  see  him  to  be  strong  and  to  prevail.  He  is 
weaker  by  every  recruit  to  his  banner.  Is  not  a  man  better 
than  a  town  ?  Ask  nothing  of  men,  and  in  the  endless  muta- 
tion, thou  only  firm  column  must  presently  appear  the  up- 
holder of  all  that  surrounds  thee.  He  who  knows  that  power 
is  in  the  soul,  that  he  is  weak  only  because  he  has  looked  for 
good  out  of  him  and  elsewhere,  and  so  perceiving,  throws 
himself  unhesitatingly  on  his  thought,  instantly  rights  him- 
self, stands  in  the  erect  position,  commands  his  limbs,  works 
miracles ;  just  as  a  man  who  stands  on  his  feet  is  stronger 
than  a  man  who  stands  on  his  head. 

So  use  all  that  is  called  Fortune.  Most  men  gamble  with 
her,  and  gain  all,  and  lose  all,  as  her  wheel  rolls.  But  do 
thou  leave  as  unlawful  these  winnings,  and  deal  with  Cause 
and  Effect,  the  chancellors  of  God.  In  the  Will  work  and 
acquire,  and  thou  hast  chained  the  wheel  of  Chance,  and  shalt 
always  drag  her  after  thee.  A  political  victory,  a  rise  of 
rents,  the  recovery  of  your  sick,  or  the  return  of  your  absent 
friend,  or  some  other  quite  external  event,  raises  your  spirits, 
and  you  think  good  days  are  preparing  for  you.  Do  not  be- 
lieve it.  It  can  never  be  so.  Nothing  can  bring  you  peace 
but  yourself.  Nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but  the  triumph 
of  principles. 


COMPENSATION. 


ESSAY  HI. 
COMPENSATION. 


since  I  was  a  boy,  I  have  wished  to  write  a  discourse 
on  Compensation :  for,  it  seemed  to  me  when  very  young, 
that,  on  this  subject,  Life  was  ahead  of  theology,  and  the  peo- 
ple knew  more  than  the  preachers  taught.  The  documents 
too,  from  which  the  doctrine  is  to  be  drawn,  charmed  my 
fancy  by  their  endless  variety,  and  lay  always  before  me,  even 
hi  sleep ;  for  they  are  the  tools  in  our  hands,  the  bread  hi  our 
basket,  the  transactions  of  the  street,  the  farm,  and  the  dwell- 
ing-house,  the  greetings,  the  relations,  the  debts  and  credits, 
the  influence  of  character,  the  nature  and  endowment  of  all 
men.  It  seemed  to  me  also  that  in  it  might  be  shown  men  a 
ray  of  divinity,  the  present  action  of  the  Soul  of  this  world, 
clean  from  all  vestige  of  tradition,  and  so  the  heart  of  man 
might  be  bathed  by  an  inundation  of  eternal  love,  conversing 
with  that  which  he  knows  was  always  and  always  must  be, 
because  it  really  is  now.  It  appeared,  moreover,  that  if  this 
doctrine  could  be  stated  in  terms  with  any  resemblance  to 
those  bright  intuitions  in  which  this  truth  is  sometimes  re- 
vealed to  us,  it  would  be  a  star  in  many  dark  hours  and 
crooked  passages  in  our  journey  that  would  not  suffer  us  to 
lose  our  way. 

I  was  lately  confirmed  in  these  desires  by  hearing  a  sermon 
at  church.  The  preacher,  a  man  esteemed  for  his  orthodoxy, 
unfolded  in  the  ordinary  manner  the  doctrine  of  the  Last 
Judgment.  He  assumed  that  judgment  is  not  executed  in 
this  world ;  that  the  wicked  are  successful ;  that  the  good  are 
miserable  ;  and  then  urged  from  reason  and  from  Scripture  a 
compensation  to  be  made  to  both  parties  in  the  next  life.  No 
offence  appeared  to  be  taken  by  the  congregation  at  this  doc- 
trine. As  far  as  I  could  observe,  when  the  meeting  broke  up, 
they  separated  without  remark  on  the  sermon. 

Yet  what  was  the  import  of  this  teaching  ?  What  did  the 
preacher  mean  by  saying  that  the  good  are  miserable  in  the 
present  life?  Was  it  that  houses  and  lands,  offices,  wine, 
horses,  dress,  luxury,  are  had  by  unprincipled  men,  whilat 

M 


52  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

the  saints  are  poor  and  despised ;  and  that  a  compensation  is 
to  be  made  to  these  last  hereafter,  by  giving  them  the  like 
gratifications  another  day, — bank-stock  and  doubloons,  veni- 
son and  champagne  ?  This  must  be  the  compensation  ir*» 
tended  ;  for,  what  else  f  Is  it  that  they  are  to  have  leave  to 
pray  and  praise?  to  love  and  serve  men?  Why,  that  they 
can  do  now.  The  legitimate  inference  the  disciple  would 
draw,  was :  '  We  are  to  have  such  a  good  time  as  the  sinners 
have  now ; ' — or,  to  push  it  to  its  extreme  import, — '  You  sin 
now ;  we  shall  sin  by-and-by  :  we  would  sin  now,  if  we  could ; 
not  being  successful,  we  expect  our  revenge  to-morrow.' 

The  fallacy  lay  in  the  immense  concession  that  the  bad  are 
successful ;  that  justice  is  not  done  now.  The  blindness  of 
the  preacher  consisted  in  deferring  to  the  base  estimate  of  the 
market  of  what  constitutes  a  manly  success,  instead  of  con- 
fronting  and  convicting  the  world  from  the  truth ;  announ- 
cing the  Presence  of  the  soul ;  the  omnipotence  of  the  Will : 
and  so  establishing  the  standard  of  good  and  ill,  of  success 
and  falsehood,  and  summoning  the  dead  to  its  present  tribu- 
nal. 

I  find  a  similar  base  tone  in  the  popular  religious  works  of 
the  day,  and  the  same  doctrines  assumed  by  the  literary  men 
when  occasionally  they  treat  the  related  topics.  I  think  that 
our  popular  theology  has  gained  in  decorum,  and  not  in  prin- 
ciple, over  the  superstitions  it  has  displaced.  But  men  are 
better  than  this  theology.  Their  daily  life  gives  it  the 
lie.  Every  ingenuous  and  aspiring  soul  leaves  the  doc- 
trine behind  him  in  his  own  experience ;  and  all  men  feel 
sometimes  the  falsehood  which  they  cannot  demonstrate. 
For  men  are  wiser  than  they  know.  That  which  they  hear  in 
schools  and  pulpits  without  afterthought,  if  said  in  conversa- 
tion, would  probably  be  questioned  in  silence.  If  a  man  dog- 
natize  in  a  mixed  company  on  Providence  and  the  divine 
laws,  he  is  answered  by  a  sihnce  which  conveys  well  enough 
to  an  observer  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  hearer,  but  his  incapac- 
ity to  make  his  own  statement. 

I  shall  attempt  in  this  and  the  following  chapter  to  record 
some  facts  that  indicate  the  path  of  the  law  of  Compensation ; 
happy  beyond  my  expectation,  if  I  shall  truly  draw  the  small- 
est arc  of  this  circle. 

POLARITY,  or  action  and  reaction,  we  meet  in  every  part  of 
•tiature  ;  in  darkness  and  light ;  in  heat  and  cold ;  in  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  waters ;  in  male  and  female ;  in  the  inspiration 
and  expiration  of  plants  and  animals  ;  in  the  systole  and  dias- 
tole of  the  heart ;  in  the  undulations  of  fluids,  and  of  sound ; 


COMPENSATION.  83 

to  the  centrifugal  and  centripetal  gravity ;  in  electricity, 
galvanism,  and  chemical  affinity.  Superinduce  magnetism  at 
one  end  of  a  needle ;  the  opposite  magnetism  takes  place  at 
the  other  end.  If  the  south  attracts,  the  north  repels.  To 
empty  here,  you  must  condense  there.  An  inevitable  dualism 
bisects  nature,  so  that  each  thing  is  a  half,  and  suggests  an< 
other  thing  to  make  it  whole  ;  as  spirit,  matter  ;  man,  woman; 
subjective,  objective;  in,  out;  upper,  under;  motion,  reatj 
yea,  nay. 

Whilst  the  world  is  thus  dual,  so  is  every  one  of  its  parts 
The  entire  system  of  things  gets  represented  in  every  particle. 
There  is  somewhat  that  resembles  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea, 
day  and  night,  man  and  woman,  in  a  single  needle  of  the  pine, 
in  a  kernel  of  corn,  in  each  individual  f  every  animal  tribe. 
The  reaction  so  grand  in  the  elements,  is  repeated  within  these 
small  boundaries.  For  example,  in  the  animal  kingdom,  the 
physiologist  has  observed  that  no  creatures  are  favorites,  but 
a  certain  compensation  balances  every  gift  and  every  defect. 
A  surplusage  given  to  one  part  is  paid  out  of  a  reduction  from 
another  part  of  the  same  creature.  I?  the  head  and  neck  are 
enlarged,  the  trunk  and  extremities  are  cut  short. 

The  theory  of  the  mechanic  forces  is  another  example. 
What  we  gain  in  power  is  lost  in  time ;  and  the  converse. 
The  periodic  or  compensating  errors  of  the  planets,  is  another 
instance.  The  influences  of  climate  and  soil  in  political  his- 
tory are  another.  The  cold  climate  invigorates.  The  barren 
soil  does  not  breed  fevers,  crocodiles,  tigers,  or  scorpions. 

The  same  dualism  underlies  the  nature  and  condition  of  man. 
Every  excess  causes  a  defect ;  every  defect  an  excess.  Every 
sweet  hath  its  sour  ;  every  evil  its  good.  Every  faculty  which 
is  a  receiver  of  pleasure,  has  an  equal  penalty  put  on  its  abuse. 
It  is  to  answer  for  its  moderation  with  its  life.  For  every  grain 
of  wit  there  is  a  grain  of  folly.  For  every  thing  you  have 
missed,  you  have  gained  something  else  ;  and  for  every  thing 
you  gain,  you  lose  something.  If  riches  increase,  they  are  in- 
creased that  use  them.  If  the  gatherer  gathers  too  much, 
nature  takes  out  of  the  man  what  she  puts  into  his  chest ;  swells 
the  estate,  but  kills  the  owner.  Nature  hates  monopolies  and 
exceptions.  The  waves  of  these  do  not  more  speedily  seek  a 
level  from  their  loftiest  tossing,  than  the  varieties  of  condition 
tend  to  equalize  themselves.  There  is  always  some  levelling 
circumstance  that  puts  down  the  overbearing,  the  strong,  the 
rich,  the  fortunate,  substantially  on  the  same  ground  with  all 
others.  Is  a  man  too  strong  anu  rierce  for  society,  and  by 
temper  and  position  a  bad  citizen,  _  morose  ruffian  with  a 


It  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

dash  of  the  pirate  in  him  ; — nature  sends  him  a  troop  of  pretty 
sons  and  daughters  who  are  getting  along  in  the  dame's 
classes  at  the  village  school,  and  love  and  fear  for  them 
smooth  his  grim  scowl  to  courtesy.  Thus  she  contrives  to 
intenerate  the  granite  and  felspar,  takes  the  boar  out  and  puts 
the  lamb  in,  and  keeps  her  balance  true. 

The  farmer  imagines  power  and  place  are  fine  things.  But 
the  President  has  paid  dear  for  his  White  House.  It  has  com 
monly  cost  him  all  his  peace  and  the  best  of  his  manly  a; 
tributes.  To  preserve  for  a  short  time  so  conspicuous  an  ap- 
pearance before  the  world,  he  is  content  to  eat  dust  before  the 
real  masters  who  stand  erect  behind  the  throne.  Or,  do  men 
desire  the  more  substantial  and  permanent  grandeur  of 
genius  ?  Neither  has  this  an  immunity.  He  who  by  force  of 
will  or  of  thought  is  great,  and  overlooks  thousands,  has  thfl 
responsibility  of  overlooking.  With  every  influx  of  light, 
comes  new  danger.  Has  he  light  ?  he  must  bear  witness  to 
the  light,  and  always  outrun  that  sympathy  which  gives  him 
such  keen  satisfaction,  by  his  fidelity  to  new  revelations  of 
the  incessant  soul.  He  must  hate  father  and  mother,  wife  and 
child.  Has  he  all  that  the  world  loves  and  admires  and 
covets  ? — he  must  cast  behind  him  their  admiration,  and  afflict 
them  by  faithfulness  to  his  truth,  and  become  a  by-word  and 
a  hissing. 

This  Law  writes  the  laws  of  cities  and  nations.  It  will  not 
be  baulked  of  its  end  in  the  smallest  iota.  It  is  in  vain  to 
build  or  plot  or  combine  against  it.  Things  refuse  to  be  mis- 
managed  long,  fies  nolunt  diu  male  administrari.  Though 
no  checks  to  a  new  evil  appear,  the  checks  exist  and  will  ap- 
pear. If  the  government  is  cruel,  the  governor's  life  is  not 
safe.  If  you  tax  too  high,  the  revenue  will  yield  nothing.  If 
you  make  the  criminal  code  sanguinary,  juries  will  not  con- 
Viet.  Nothing  arbitrary,  nothing  artificial  can  endure.  The 
.Ifcrue  life  and  satisfactions  of  man  seem  to  elude  the  utmost 
rigors  or  felicities  of  condition,  and  to  establish  themselves 
with  great  indifferency  under  all  varieties  of  circumstances. 
Under  all  governments  the  influence  of  character  remains  the 
same, — in  Turkey  and  in  New  England  about  alike.  Under 
the  primeval  despots  of  Egypt,  history  honestly  confesses  that 
man  must  have  been  as  free  as  culture  could  make  him. 

These  appearances  indicate  the  fact  that  the  universe  is  rep- 
resented in  every  one  of  its  particles.  Every  thing  in  na- 
ture contains  all  the  powers  of  nature.  Every  thing  is  made 
of  one  hidden  stuff;  as  the  naturalist  sees  one  type  under 
every  metamorphosis,  and  regards  a  horse  as  a  running  man, 


COMPENSATION  55 

a  fish  as  a  swimming  man,  a  bird  as  a  flying  man,  a  tret  as  a 
looted  man.  Each  new  form  repeats  not  only  the  main  char- 
acter of  the  type,  but  part  for  part  all  the  details,  all  the  aims, 
furtherances,  hindrances,  energies,  and  whole  system  of  every 
other.  Every  occupation,  trade,  art,  transaction,  is  a  com« 
pend  of  the  world,  and  a  correlative  of  every  other.  Each  one 
is  an  entire  emblem  of  human  life  ;  of  its  good  and  ill,  its 
trials,  its  enemies,  its  course  and  its  end.  And  each  one  must 
Bomehow  accommodate  the  whole  man,  and  recite  all  his 
destiny. 

The  world  globes  itself  in  a  drop  of  dew.  The  microscope 
cannot  find  the  animalcule  which  is  less  perfect  for  being  lit- 
tle. Eyes,  ears,  taste,  smell,  motion,  resistance,  appetite,  and 
organs  of  reproduction  that  take  hold  on  eternity, — all  find 
room  to  consist  in  the  small  creature.  So  do  we  put  our  life 
into  every  act.  The  true  doctrine  of  omnipresence  is,  that 
God  reappears  with  all  his  parts  in  every  moss  and  cobweb. 
The  value  of  the  universe  contrives  to  throw  itself  into  every 
point.  If  the  good  is  there,  so  is  the  evil ;  if  the  affinity,  so 
the  repulsion ;  if  the  force,  so  the  limitation. 

Thus  is  the  universe  alive.  All  things  are  moral.  That 
BOU!  which  within  us  is  a  sentiment,  outside  of  us  is  a  law, 
We  feel  its  inspirations ;  out  there  in  history  we  can  see  its 
fatal  strength.  It  is  almighty.  All  nature  feels  its  grasp. 
"  It  is  in  the  world  and  the  world  was  made  by  it."  It  is  eter- 
nal, but  it  enacts  itself  in  time  and  space.  Justice  is  not 
postponed.  A  perfect  equity  adjusts  its  balance  in  all  parts 
of  life.  01  xofioi  Jwc  &si  suxiKTuai.  The  dice  of  God  are  al- 
ways loaded.  The  world  looks  like  a  multiplication-table  or  a 
mathematical  equation,  which,  turn  it  how  you  will,  balances 
itself.  Take  what  figure  you  will,  its  exact  value,  nor  more  nor 
less,  still  returns  to  you.  Every  secret  is  told,  every  crime  is 
punished,  every  virtue  rewarded,  every  wrong  redressed,  in 
silence  and  certainty.  What  we  call  retribution,  is  the  uni» 
versal  necessity  by  which  the  whole  appears  wherever  a  part 
appears.  If  you  see  smoke,  there  must  be  fire.  If  you  see  a 
hand  or  a  limb,  you  know  that  the  trunk  to  which  it  belongs, 
is  there  behind. 

Every  act  rewards  itself,  or,  in  other  words,  integrates  it* 
self,  in  a  twofold  manner ;  first,  in  the  thing,  or,  in  real  nature; 
and  secondly,  hi  the  circumstance,  or,  in  apparent  nature. 
Men  call  the  circumstance  the  retribution.  The  causal  retri- 
bution is  in  the  thing,  and  is  seen  by  the  soul.  The  retribur 
tion  in  the  circuiastance,  is  .soon  by  the  understanding ;  it  is 
Inseparable  from  the  thing,  but  is  often  spread  over  a  long 


00  £MW80N>tS  ESSAY& 

time,  and  so  does  not  become  distinct  until  after  many  years 
The  specific  stripes  may  follow  late  after  the  offence,  but  thev 
follow  because  they  accompany  it.  Crime  and  punishment 
grow  out  of  one  stem.  Punishment  is  a  fruit  that  unsuspected 
ripens  within  the  flower  of  the  pleasure  which  concealed 
it.  Cause  and  effect,  means  and  ends,  seed  and  fruit,  cannot 
be  severed  ;  for  the  effect  already  blooms  in  the  cause,  the  end 
pre-exists  in  the  means,  the  fruit  in  the  seed. 

Whilst  thus  the  world  will  be  whole,  and  refuses  to  be  dis 
parted,  we  seek  to  act  partially  ;  to  sunder  ;  to  appropriate  . 
for  example, — to  gratify  the  senses,  we  sever  the  pleasure  of 
the  senses  from  the  needs  of  the  character.  The  ingenuity  of 
man  has  been  dedicated  always  to  the  solution  of  one  problem, 
— how  to  detach  the  sensual  sweet,  the  sensual  strong,  the 
sensual  bright,  &c.  from  the  moral  sweet,  the  moral  deep,  the 
moral  fair  ;  that  is,  again,  to  contrive  to  cut  clean  off  this  up- 
per surface  so  thin  as  to  leave  it  bottomless  ;  to  get  a  one  end, 
without  an  other  end.  The  soul  says,  Eat ;  the  body  would 
feast.  The  soul  says,  The  man  and  woman  shall  be  one  flesh 
and  one  soul ;  the  body  would  join  the  flesh  only.  The  soul 
says,  Have  dominion  over  all  things  to  the  ends  of  virtue ;  the 
body  would  have  the  power  over  things  to  its  own  ends. 

The  soul  strives  amain  to  live  and  work  through  all  things, 
It  would  be  the  only  fact.  All  things  shall  be  added  unto  it, 
—power,  pleasure,  knowledge,  beauty.  The  particular  man 
aims  to  be  somebody  ;  to  set  up  for  himself ;  to  truck  and 
higgle  for  a  private  good  ;  and,  in  particulars,  to  ride,  that  he 
may  ride  ;  to  dress,  that  he  may  be  dressed ;  to  eat,  that  he 
may  eat ;  and  to  govern  that  he  may  be  seen.  Men  seek  to  be 
great ;  they  would  have  offices,  wealth,  power  and  fame.  They 
think  that  to  be  great  is  to  get  only  one  side  of  nature — the 
sweet,  without  the  other  side — the  bitter. 

Steadily  is  this  dividing  and  detaching  counteracted.  Up 
to  this  day,  it  must  be  owned,  no  projector  has  had  the  smallest 
success.  The  parted  water  re-unites  behind  our  hand.  Pleas- 
ure is  taken  out  of  pleasant  things,  profit  out  of  profitable 
things,  power  out  of  strong  things,  the  moment  we  seek  to 
separate  them  from  the  whole.  We  can  no  more  halve  things 
and  get  the  sensual  good,  by  itself,  than  we  can  get  an  inside 
that  shall  have  no  outside,  or  a  light  without  a  shadow. 
"  Drive  out  nature  with  a  fork,  she  comes  running  back." 

Life  invests  itself  with  inevitable  conditions,  which  the  un« 
vise  seek  to  dodge,  which  one  and  another  brags  that  he  does 
»ot  know ;  brags  that  they  do  not  touch  him  ; — but  the  brag 
IB  oo  bis  lips,  the  conditions  are  in  bis  soul.  If  be  escapea 


COMPENSATION.  ftt 

them  in  one  part,  they  attack  him  in  another  more  vital  part. 
If  he  had  escaped  them  in  form,  and  in  the  appearance,  it  is 
that  he  has  resisted  his  life,  and  fled  from  himself,  and  the  ret> 
ribution  is  so  much  death.  So  signal  is  the  failure  of  all  at- 
tempts to  make  this  separation  of  the  good  from  the  tax,  that 
the  experiment  would  not  be  tried, — since  to  try  it  is  to  be 
mad, — but  for  the  circumstance,  that  when  the  disease  began 
in  the  will,  of  rebellion  and  separation,  the  intellect  is  at  once 
Infected,  so  that  the  man  ceases  to  see  God  whole  in  each  ob> 
ject,  but  is  able  to  see  the  sensual  allurement  of  an  object, 
and  not  see  the  sensual  hurt ;  he  sees  the  mermaid's  head,  but 
not  the  dragon's  tail ;  and  thinks  he  can  cut  off  that  which  he 
would  have,  from  that  which  he  would  not  have.  "  How 
secret  art  tliou  who  dwellest  in  the  highest  heavens  in  silence, 
O  thou  only  great  God,  sprinkling  with  an  unwearied  Provi- 
dence certain  penal  blindnesses  upon  such  as  have  unbridled 
desires ! "  * 

The  human  soul  is  true  to  these  facts  in  the  painting  of 
iable,  of  history,  of  law,  of  proverbs,  of  conversation.  It 
finds  a  tongue  in  literature  unawares.  Thus  the  Greeks  called 
Jupiter,  Supreme  Mind ;  but  having  traditionally  ascribed  to 
him  many  base  actions,  they  involuntarily  made  amends  to 
Reason,  by  tying  up  the  hands  of  so  bad  a  god.  He  is  made 
as  helpless  as  a  king  of  England.  Prometheus  knows  one 
secret,  which  Jove  must  bargain  for  ;  Minerva,  another.  He 
cannot  get  his  own  thunders;  Minerva  keeps  the  key  of 
them. 

"  Of  all  the  gods  I  only  know  the  keys 
That  ope  the  solid  doors  within  whose  vaults 
His  thunders  sleep." 

A  plain  confession  of  the  in-working  of  the  All,  and  of  its 
mortal  aim.  The  Indian  mythology  ends  in  the  same  ethics ; 
and  indeed  it  would  seem  impossible  for  any  fable  to  be  in- 
vented and  get  any  currency  which  was  not  moral.  Aurora 
forgot  to  ask  youth  for  her  lover,  and  so  though  Tithonus  is 
immortal,  he  is  old.  Achilles  is  not  quite  invulnerable ;  for 
Thetis  held  him  by  the  heel  when  she  dipped  him  in  the  Styx, 
and  the  sacred  waters  did  not  wash  that  part.  Siegfried,  in 
the  Nibelungen,  is  not  quite  immortal,  for  a  leaf  fell  on  his 
ack  whilst  he  was  bathing  in  the  Dragon's  blood,  and  that 
spot  which  it  covered  is  mortal.  And  so  it  always  is.  There 
is  a  crack  in  every  thing  God  has  made.  Always,  it  would 
seem,  there  is  this  vindictive  circumstance  stealing  in  at  un- 
•St.  Augustine:  Couiessious,  B.  t 


•  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

awares,  even  into  the  wild  poesy  in  which  the  human  fancy  ft-  • 
tempted  to  make  bold  holiday,  and  to  shake  itself  free  of  tb@ 
old  laws, — this  back-stroke,  this  kick  of  the  gun,  certifying 
that  the  law  is  fetal;  that  in  Nature,  nothing  can  be  given,  a^ 
things  are  sold. 

This  is  that  ancient  doctrine  of  Nemesis,  who  keeps  watG;i 
in  the  Universe,  and  lets  no  offence  go  unchastised.  Tbg 
Furies,  they  said,  are  attendants  on  Justice,  and  if  the  sun  fe 
heaven  should  transgress  his  path,  they  would  punish  hit 
The  poets  related  that  stone  walls,  and  iron  swords,  at  ' 
leathern  thongs  had  an  occult  sympathy  with  the  wrongs  c 
their  owners ;  that  the  belt  which  Ajax  gave  Hector,  draggej 
the  Trojan  hero  over  the  field  at  the  wheels  of  the  car  of 
Achilles ;  and  the  sword  which  Hector  gave  Ajax,  was  thafe 
on  whose  point  Ajax  fell.  They  recorded  that  when  tlMj 
Thasians  erected  a  statue  to  Theogenes,  a  victor  in  the* 
games,  one  of  his  rivals  went  to  it  by  night,  and  endeavored 
to  throw  it  down  by  repeated  blows,  until  at  last  he  moved  ii 
from  its  pedestal  and  was  crushed  to  death  beneath  its  tail 

This  voice  of  fable  has  in  it  somewhat  divine.  It  came  from 
thought  above  the  will  of  the  writer.  That  is  the  best  par! 
of  each  writer,  which  has  nothing  private  in  it.  That  is  the 
best  part  of  each,  which  he  does  not  know,  that  which  flowed 
out  of  his  constitution,  and  not  from  his  too  active  invention ; 
that  which  in  the  study  of  a  single  artist  you  might  not  easily 
find,  but  in  the  study  of  many,  you  would  abstract  as  the 
spirit  of  them  all.  Phidias  it  is  not,  but  the  work  of  man  in 
that  early  Hellenic  world,  that  I  would  know.  The  name  and 
circumstances  of  Phidias,  however  convenient  for  history, 
embarrasses  when  we  come  to  the  highest  criticism.  We  are 
to  see  that  which  man  was  tending  to  do  in  a  given  period, 
and  was  hindered,  or,  if  you  will,  modified  in  doing,  by  the 
interfering  volitions  of  Phidias,  of  Dante,  of  Shakspeare,  the 
Organ  whereby  man  at  the  moment  wrought. 

Still  more  striking  is  the  expression  of  this  fact  in  the 
proverb  of  all  nations,  which  are  always  the  literature  of 
Reason,  or  the  statements  of  an  absolute  truth,  without  quali- 
fication. Proverbs,  like  the  sacred  books  of  each  nation,  are 
the  sanctuary  of  the  Intuitions.  That  which  the  droning 
world,  chained  to  appearances,  will  not  allow  the  realist  to  say 
in  his  own  words,  it  will  suffer  him  to  say  in  proverbs  with 
Out  contradiction  And  this  law  of  laws  which  the  pulpit, 
the  senate  and  the  college  deny,  is  hourly  preached  in  all 
markets  and  all  languages  by  flights  of  proverbs,  whose  teael* 
ing  is  as  ftfite  and  as  omnipresent  as  that  of  birds  and  flies. 


COMPENSATION.  OB 

All  things  are  double,  one  against  another. — Tit  for  tat  •,  an 
€ye  for  an  eye  ;  a  tooth  for  a  tooth  ;  blood  for  blood  ;  measure 
for  measure ;  love  for  love. — Give  and  it  shall  be  given  you.— 
He  that  watereth  shall  be  watered  himself. — What  will  you 
have  ?  quoth  God  ;  pay  for  it  and  take  it. — Nothing  venture, 
nothing  have. — Thou  shalt  be  paid  exactly  for  what  thou  hast 
done,  no  more,  no  less. — Who  doth  not  work  shall  not  eat.— 
Harm  watch,  harm  catch. — Curses  always  recoil  on  the  head 
of  him  who  imprecates  them. — If  you  put  a  chain  around  the 
neck  of  a  slave,  the  other  end  fastens  itself  around  your  own. 
— Bad  counsel  confounds  the  adviser. — The  devil  is  an  ass. 

It  is  thus  written,  because  it  is  thus  in  lite.  Our  action  is 
overmastered  and  characterized  above  our  will  by  the  law  oi 
nature.  We  aim  at  a  petty  end  quite  aside  from  the  public 
good,  but  our  act  arranges  itself  by  irresistible  magnetism  in 
a  line  with  the  poles  of  the  world. 

A  man  cannot  speak  but  he  judges  himself.  With  his  will, 
or  against  his  will,  he  draws  his  portrait  to  the  eye  of  his  com. 
panions  by  every  word.  Every  opinion  reacts  on  him  who 
utters  it.  It  is  a  threadball  thrown  at  a  mark,  but  the  other 
end  remains  in  the  thrower's  bag.  Or,  rather,  it  is  a  harpoon 
thrown  at  the  whale,  unwinding,  as  it  flies,  a  coil  of  cord  in 
the  boat,  and  if  the  harpoon  is  not  good,  or  not  well  thiown, 
it  will  go  nigh  to  tut  the  steersman  in  twain,  or  to  sink  the 
boat. 

You  cannot  do  wrong  without  suffering  wrong.  "  No  man 
had  ever  a  point  of  pride  that  was  not  injurious  to  him,"  said 
Burke.  The  exclusive  in  fashionable  life  does  not  see  that  he 
excludes  himself  from  enjoyment,  in  the  attempt  to  appro- 
priate it.  The  exclusionist  in  religion  does  not  see  that  he 
shuts  the  door  of  heaven  on  himself,  in  striving  to  shut  out 
others.  Treat  men  as  pawns  and  ninepins,  and  you  shall 
suffer  as  well  as  they.  If  you  leave  out  their  heart,  you  shall 
lose  your  own.  The  senses  would  make  things  of  all  persons  ; 
of  women,  of  children,  of  the  poor.  The  vulgar  proverb,  "  I 
will  get  it  from  hia  purse  or  get  it  from  his  skin,"  is  sound 
philosophy. 

All  infractions  of  love  and  equity  in  our  social  relations  are 
speedily  punished.  They  are  punished  by  Fear.  Whilst  1 
stand  in  simple  relations  to  my  fellow  man,  I  have  no  dis- 
pleasure in  meeting  him.  We  meet  as  water  meets  water,  or 
a  current  of  air  meets  another,  with  perfect  diffusion  and  in- 
terpenetration  of  nature.  But  as  soon  as  there  is  any  depart- 
ure from  simplicity,  and  attempt  at  halfness,  or  good  for  me 
that  is  not  good  for  him,  my  neighbor  feels  the  wrong ;  h» 


m  EMERSON1 8  ESSAYS. 

shrink*'  from  me  as  far  as  I  have  shrunk  from  him ;  his  eyes 
ac  longer  seek  mine ;  there  is  war  between  us  ;  there  is  hate 
in  him  and  fear  in  me. 

A Jl  the  old  abuses  in  society,  the  great  and  universal  and 
the  petty  and  particular,  all  unjust  accumulations  of  property 
and  power,  are  avenged  in  the  same  manner.  Fear  is  an  in* 
structor  of  great  sagacity,  and  the  herald  of  all  revolutions. 
One  thing  he  always  teaches,  that  there  is  rottenness  where 
he  appears.  He  is  a  carrion  crow,  and  though  3rou  see  not 
Well  what  he  hovers  for,  there  is  death  somewhere.  Our 
property  is  timid,  our  laws  are  timid,  our  cultivated  classes 
are  timid.  Fear  for  ages  has  boded  and  mowed  and  gibbered 
over  government  and  property.  That  obscene  bird  is  not 
there  for  nothing.  He  indicates  great  wrongs  which  must  be 
revised. 

Oi  the  like  nature  is  that  expectation  of  change  which  in- 
stantly follows  the  suspension  of  our  voluntary  activit}'.  The 
terror  of  cloudless  noon,  the  emerald  of  Polycrates,  the  awe 
of  prosperity,  the  instinct  which  leads  every  generous  soul  to 
impose  on  itself  tasks  of  a  noble  asceticism  and  vicarious  vir- 
tue, are  the  tremblings  of  the  balance  of  justice  through  the 
heart  and  mind  of  man. 

Experienced  men  of  the  world  know  very  well  that  it  is 
always  best  to  pay  scot  and  lot  as  they  go  along,  and  that  a 
man  often  pays  dear  for  a  small  frugality.  The  borrower 
runs  in  his  own  debt.  Has  a  man  gained  any  thing  who  has 
received  a  hundred  favors  and  rendered  none  ?  Has  he  gained 
by  borrowing,  through  indolence  or  cunning,  his  neighbor's 
wares,  or  horses,  or  money  ?  There  arises  on  the  deed  the  in- 
stant acknowledgment  of  benefit  on  the  one  part,  and  of  debt 
on  the  other ;  that  is,  of  superiority  and  inferiority.  The 
transaction  remains  in  the  memory  ~f  himself  and  his  neigh« 
bor ;  and  every  new  transaction  alters,  according  to  its  na- 
ture, their  relation  to  each  other.  He  may  soon  come  to  see 
that  he  had  better  have  broken  his  own  bones  than  to  have 
ridden  in  his  neighbor's  coach,  and  that  "  the  highest  price  he 
can  pay  for  a  thing  is  to  ask  for  it." 

A  wise  man  will  extend  this  lesson  to  all  parts  of  lif  ,  and 
know  that  it  is  always  the  part  of  prudence  to  face  every 
claimant,  and  pay  every  just  demand  on  your  time,  your  tal- 
ents, or  your  heart.  Alwaj^s  pay  ;  for,  first  or  last,  you  must 
pay  your  entire  debt.  Persons  and  events  may  stand  f  r  a 
time  between  you  and  justice,  but  it  is  only  a  postponement. 
You  must  pay  at  last  your  own  debt.  If  you  are  wise,  you 
Will  dread  a  prosperity  which  only  loads  you  with  mor* 


COMPENSATION.  61 

Benefit  is  the  end  of  nature.  But  for  every  benefit  which 
you  receive,  a  tax  is  levied.  He  is  great  who  confers  the 
most  benefits.  He  is  base, — and  that  is  the  one  base  thing  in 
the  universe, — to  receive  favors  and  render  none.  In  the 
order  of  nature  we  cannot  render  benefits  to  those  from  whom 
we  receive  them,  or  only  seldom.  But  the  benefit  we  receive 
must  be  rendered  again,  line  for  line,  deed  for  deed,  cent  for 
cent,  to  somebody.  Beware  of  too  much  good  staying  in 
your  hand.  It  will  fast  corrupt  and  worm  worms.  Pay  it 
away  quickly  in  some  sort. 

Labor  is  watched  over  by  the  same  pitiless  laws.  Cheapest, 
say  the  prudent,  is  the  dearest  labor.  What  we  buy  in  a 
broom,  a  mat,  a  wagon,  a  knife,  is  some  application  of  goocl 
sense  to  a  common  want.  It  is  best  to  pay  in  your  land  a 
skilful  gardener,  or  to  buy  good  sense  applied  to  gardening,- 
in  your  sailor,  good  sense  applied,  to  navigation  ;  in  the  house, 
good  sense  applied  to  cooking,  sewing,  serving ;  in  youi 
agent,  good  sense  applied  to  accounts  and  affairs.  So  do  you 
multiply  your  presence,  or  spread  yourself  throughout  youi 
estate.  But  because  ci"  tne  dual  constitution  of  all  things,  in 
labor  as  in  life  there  «an  be  no  cheating.  The  thief  steals 
from  himself.  The  swxndler  swindles  himself.  For  the  real 
price  ;f  labor  is  knowledge  and  virtue,  whereof  wealth  and 
credit  are  signs.  1'hese  signs,  like  paper-money,  may  be 
counterfeited  or  stoCen,  but  that  which  they  represent,  namely  v 
knowledge  and  virtue,  cannot  be  counterfeited  or  stolen. 
These  ends  of  labor  cannot  be  answered  but  by  real  exertions* 
of  the  mind,  and  in  obedience  to  pure  motives.  The  cheat, 
the  defaulter,  the  gambler  cannot  extort  the  benefit,  cannoi 
extort  the  knowledge  of  material  and  moral  nature  which  his 
honest  care  and  pains  yield  to  the  operative.  The  law  of  na- 
ture is,  Do  the  thing,  and  you  shall  have  the  power :  but  thej 
who  do  not  the  thing  have  not  the  power. 

Human  labor,  through  all  its  forms,  from  the  sharpening  01 
>  stake  to  the  construction  of  a  city  or  an  epic,  is  one  im. 
mense  illustration  f  the  perfect  compensation  of  the  universe. 
Every  where  and  always  this  law  is  sublime.  The  absolute 
balance  of  Give  and  Take,  the  doctrine  that  every  thing  has 
its  price ;  and  if  that  price  is  not  paid,  not  that  thing  but 
something  else  is  obtained,  and  thj:-  it  is  impossible  to  get 
any  thing  without  its  price, — this  doctrine  is  not  less  sublime 
in  "the  columns  f  a  ledger  than  in  the  budgets  of  states,  in 
the  i&v\rs  >f  light  and  darkness,  in  all  the  action  and  reaction 
of  nature.  I  cannot  doubt  that  the  high  laws  which  each 
man  sees  ever  implicated  in  those  processes  with  which  he  *t 


62  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

conversant,  the  stern  ethics  which  sparkle  on  his  chisel-edge, 
whi«h  are  measured  out  by  his  plumb  and  footrule,  which 
stand  as  manifest  in  the  footing  of  the  shop-bill  as  in  the  his. 
tory  of  a  state, — do  recommend  to  him  his  trade,  and  though 
seldom  named,  exaU  his  business  to  his  imagination. 

The  league  between  virtue  and  nature  engages  all  things  to 
assume  a  hostile  front  to  vice.  The  beautiful  laws  and  sub- 
stances of  the  world  persecute  and  whip  the  traitor.  He 
finds  that  things  are  arranged  for  truth  and  benefit,  but  there 
is  no  den  in  the  wide  world  to  hide  a  rogue.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  concealment.  Commit  a  crime,  and  the  earth  is 
made  of  glass.  Commit  a  crime,  and  it  seems  as  if  a  coat  o( 
snow  fell  on  the  ground,  such  as  reveals  in  the  woods  the 
track  of  every  partridge  and  fox  and  squirrel  and  mole.  You 
cannot  recall  the  spoken  word,  you  cannot  wipe  out  the  foot- 
track,  you  cannot  draw  up  the  ladder,  so  as  to  leave  no  inlet 
or  clew.  Always  some  damning  circumstance  transpires. 
The  laws  and  substances  of  nature,  water,  snow,  wind,  gravi- 
tation, become  penalties  to  the  thief. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  law  holds  with  equal  sureness  for 
all  right  action.  Love,  and  you  shall  be  loved.  All  love  is 
mathematically  just,  as  much  as  the  two  sides  of  an  algebraic 
equation.  The  good  man  has  absolute  good,  which  like  fire 
turns  every  thing  to  its  own  nature,  so  that  you  cannot  do 
him  any  harm ;  but  as  the  royal  armies  sep*5  against  Napo- 
leon, when  he  approached,  cast  down  their  colors  and  from 
enemies  became  friends,  so  do  disasters  of  all  kinds  as  sick, 
aess,  offence,  poverty,  prove  benefactors. 

"  Winds  blow  and  waters  roll 
Strength  to  the  brave,  and  power  and  deity, 
Yet  in  themselves  are  nothing." 

The  good  are  befriended  even  by  weakness  and  defect.  As 
ao  man  had  ever  a  point  of  pride  that  was  not  injurious  to 
him,  so  no  man  had  ever  a  defect  that  was  not  somewhere 
made  useful  to  him.  The  stag  in  the  fable  admired  his  horns 
and  blamed  his  feet,  but  when  the  hunter  came,  his  feet  saved 
him,  and  afterwards,  caught  in  the  thicket,  his  horns  de- 
stroyed him.  Every  man  in  his  lifetime  needs  to  thank  his 
faults.  As  no  man  thoroughly  understands  a  truth  until  first 
he  has  contended  against  it,  so  no  man  has  a  thorough  a<v 
quaintance  with  the  hindrances  or  talents  of  men,  until  he 
has  suffered  from  the  one,  and  seen  the  triumph  of  the  other 
over  his  own  want  of  the  same.  Has  he  a  defect  of  temper 
that  unfits  him  to  live  in  society  ?  Thereby  he  is  driven  to 


COMPENSATION.  63 

intertain  himself  alone,  and  acquire  habits  of  self-help ;  and 
thus,  like  the  wounded  oyster,  he  mends  his  shell  with  pearl. 

Our  strength  grows  out  of  our  weakness.  Not  until  we  are 
pricked  and  stung  and  sorely  shot  at,  awakens  the  indignation 
which  arms  itself  with  secret  forces.  A  great  man  is  always 
willing  to  be  little.  Whilst  he  sits  on  the  cushion  of  advanta- 
ges, he  goes  to  sleep.  When  he  ia  pushed,  tormented,  de- 
feated, he  has  a  chance  to  learn  something ;  he  has  been  put 
on  his  wits,  on  his  manhood  ;  he  has  gained  facts  ;  learns  hie 
ignorance ;  is  cured  of  the  insanity  of  conceit ;  has  got 
moderation  and  real  skill.  The  wise  man  always  throws  him- 
self on  the  side  of  his  assailants.  It  is  more  his  interest  than 
it  is  theirs  to  find  his  weak  point.  The  wound  cicatrizes  and 
falls  off  from  him,  like  a  dead  skin,  and  when  they  would 
triumph,  lo  1  he  has  passed  on  invulnerable.  Blame  is  safer 
than  praise.  I  hate  to  be  defended  in  a  newspaper.  As  long 
as  all  that  is  said,  is  said  against  me,  I  feel  a  certain  assurance 
of  success.  But  as  soon  as  honied  words  of  praise  are  spoken 
for  me,  I  feel  as  one  that  lies  unprotected  before  his  enemies. 
In  general,  every  evil  to  which  we  do  not  succumb,  is  a  bene- 
factor. As  the  Sandwich  Islander  believes  that  the  strength 
and  valor  of  the  enemy  he  kills,  passes  oto  himself,  so  we 
gain  the  strength  of  the  temptation  we  resist. 

The  same  guards  which  protect  us  from  disaster,  defect,  and 
arimity,  defend  us,  if  we  will,  from  selfishness  and  fraud.  Bolts 
and  bars  are  not  the  best  of  our  institutions,  nor  is  shrewd- 
ness in  trade  a  mark  of  wisdom.  Men  suffer  all  their  life 
long,  under  the  foolish  superstition  that  they  can  be  cheated. 
But  (t  is  as  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  cheated  by  any  one  but 
himself,  as  for  a  thing  to  be,  and  not  to  be,  at  the  same  time. 
There  is  a  third  silent  party  to  all  our  bargains.  The  nature 
and  soul  of  things  takes  on  itself  the  guaranty  ox  the  fulfil- 
ment of  every  contract,  so  that  honest  service  cannot  come  to 
ioss.  If  you  serve  an  ungrateful  master,  serve  him  the  more 
Put  God  in  your  debt.  Every  stroke  shall  be  repaid.  The 
longer  the  payment  is  withholden,  the  better  for  you  ;  for  com- 
pound interest  on  compound  interest  is  the  rate  and  usage  of 
this  exchequer. 

The  history  of  persecution  is  a  history  of  endeavors  tc 
cheat  nature,  to  make  water  run  up  hill,  to  twist  a  rope  oi 
Band.  It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  actors  be  many  or  one, 
a  tyrant  or  a  mob.  A  mob  is  a  society  of  bodies  voluntarily 
bereaving  themselves  of  reason  and  traversing  its  work.  The 
mob  is  man  voluntarily  descending  to  the  nature  of  the  beast. 
Its  fit  hour  of  activity  is  night.  Its  actions  are  insane  like  its 


«  WESSON'S  E8SAYB 

The  heart  and  soui  on  all  men  Ming  one,  this  bitterness  of  His 
and  Mine  ceases.  His  is  mine.  I  am  my  brother,  and  my 
brother  is  me.  If  I  feel  overshadowed  and  outdone  by  great 
neighbors,  I  can  yet  love ;  I  can  still  receive ;  and  he  that 
loveth,  maketh  his  own  the  grandeur  he  loves.  Thereby  I 
make  the  discovery  that  my  brother  is  my  guardian,  acting 
for  me  with  the  friendliest  designs,  and  the  estate  I  so  admired 
and  envied,  is  my  own.  It  is  the  eternal  nature  of  the  soul 
to  appropriate  and  make  all  things  its  own.  Jesus  and  Shaks- 
peare  are  fragments  of  the  soul,  and  by  love  I  conquer  and 
incorporate  tnem  in  my  own  conscious  domain.  His  virtue, — 
is  not  that  mine  ?  His  wit, — if  it  cannot  be  made  mine,  it  is 
not  wit. 

Such,  also,  is  the  natural  history  of  calamity.  The  changes 
*hich  break  up  at  short  intervals  the  prosperity  of  men,  are 
advertisements  of  a  nature  whose  law  is  growth.  Evermore 
it  is  the  order  of  nature  to  grow,  and  every  soul  is  by  this 
intrinsic  necessity  quitting  its  whole  system  of  things,  its 
friends,  and  home,  and  laws,  and  faith,  as  the  shell-fish  crawls 
out  -?f  ita  beautiful  but  stony  case,  because  it  no  longer  ad- 
mits of  its  growth  and  slowly  forms  a  new  house.  In  propor 
lion  to  the  vigor  of  the  individual,  these  revolutions  are  fre- 
quent, until  in  some  happier  mind  they  are  incessant,  and  alii 
woildly  relations  hang  very  loosely  about  him,  becoming,  as 
it  were,  a  transparent  fluid  membrane  through  which  the  form 
is  alway  seen,  and  not  as  in  most  men  an  indurated  hetero- 
geneous fabric  of  many  dates,  and  of  no  settled  character,  m 
which  the  man  is  imprisoned.  Then  there  can  be  enlargement, 
And  the  man  of  to-day  scarcely  recognizes  the  man  of  yester- 
day. And  such  should  be  the  outward  biography  of  man  In 
time,  a  putting  off  of  dead  circumstances  day  by  dav,  as  he 
renews  his  raiment  day  by  day.  But  to  us,  in  our  lapsed 
»tate,  resting  not  advancing,  resisting,  not  co-operating  with 
ttedivme  expansion,  this  growth  comes  by  shocks. 

We  cannot  part  with  our  friends.  We  cannot  let  our  angeife 
go.  We  dp  not  see  that  they  only  go  out,  that  archangels 
may  come  in.  We  are  idolaters  of  the  old.  We  do  not  be- 

'  6wChS8  of  the V80u1'  ™  its  Pr°Per  eteraity  and  omni- 
presence.  We  do  not  believe  there  is  any  force  in  to-day  to 

r  »<»eate  that  beautiful  yesterday.  We  linger  in  the 
L  «  ldrten\uhere  on<*  ™  had  bread  and  shelter  and 
organs,  nor  believe  that  the  spirit  can  feed,  cover,  and  nerve 
osagaui.  We  cannot  again  find  aught  so  dear,  so  sweet,  so 
graceful.  Bat  we  sit  and  weep  in  vain.  The  voice  of  tka 
Almighty  aaith,  <Up  and  onward  forevermoreP  We  £D«*  \ 


COMPENSATION.  g) 

stay  amid  the  ruins.  Neither  will  we  rely  on  the  New ;  and 
so  we  walk  ever  with  reverted  eyes,  like  those  monsters  who 
look  backwards. 

And  yet  the  compensations  of  calamity  are  made  apparent 
to  the  understanding  also,  after  long  intervals  of  time.  A 
fever,  a  mutilation,  a  cruel  disappointment,  a  loss  of  wealth,  a 
loss  of  friends  seems  at  the  moment  unpaid  loss,  and  unpay. 
able.  But  the  sure  years  reveal  the  deep  remedial  force  that 
underlies  all  facts.  The  death  of  a  dear  friend,  wife,  brother, 
lover,  which  seemed  nothing  but  privation,  somewhat  later 
assumes  the  aspect  of  a  guide  or  genius;  for  it  commonly 
operates  revolutions  in  our  way  of  life,  terminates  an  epoch  of 
infancy  or  of  youth  which  was  waiting  to  be  closed,  breaks  up 
a  wonted  occupation,  or  a  household,  or  style  of  living,  and 
allows  the  formation  of  new  ones  more  friendly  to  the  growth 
of  chaiactier.  It  permits  or  constrains  the  formation  of  new 
acquaintances,  and  the  reception  of  new  influences  that  prove 
of  the  first  importance  to  the  next  years ;  and  the  man  or 
woman  who  would  have  remained  a  sunny  garden  flower,  with 
no  roowi  for  its  roots  and  too  much  sunshine  for  its  head,  by 
the  faliing  of  the  walls  and  the  neglect  of  the  gardener,  is 
made  the  banian  of  the  forest,  yielding  shade  and  fruit  to  wide 
neighlx  *rhood*  <>f  men. 


8B  WESSON'S  ESSAYS 

The  heart  and  soul  01  all  men  Ming  one,  this  bitterness  of  His 
and  Mine  ceases.  His  is  mine.  I  am  my  brother,  and  my 
brother  is  me.  If  I  feel  overshadowed  and  outdone  by  great 
neighbors,  I  can  yet  love ;  I  can  still  receive ;  and  he  that 
loveth,  maketh  his  own  the  grandeur  he  loves.  Thereby  I 
make  the  discovery  that  my  brother  is  my  guardian,  acting 
for  me  with  the  friendliest  designs,  and  the  estate  I  so  admired 
and  envied,  is  my  own.  It  is  the  eternal  nature  of  the  soul 
to  appropriate  and  make  all  things  its  own.  Jesus  and  Shaks- 
peare  are  fragments  of  the  soul,  and  by  love  I  conquer  and 
Incorporate  tnem  in  my  own  conscious  domain.  His  virtue, — 
is  not  that  mine  ?  His  wit, — if  it  cannot  be  made  mine,  it  is 
'•lot  wit. 

Such,  also,  is  the  natural  history  of  calamity.  The  changes 
*hich  break  up  at  short  intervals  the  prosperity  of  men,  are 
advertisements  of  a  nature  whose  law  is  growth.  Evermore 
it  is  the  order  of  nature  to  grow,  and  every  soul  is  by  this 
intrinsic  necessity  quitting  its  whole  system  of  things,  its 
friends,  and  home,  and  laws,  and  faith,  as  the  shell-fish  crawls 
out  ?f  ita  beautiful  but  stony  case,  because  it  no  longer  ad- 
mits of  its  growth  and  slowly  forms  a  new  house.  In  propor 
tion  to  the  vigor  of  the  individual,  these  revolutions  are  fre- 
quent, until  in  some  happier  mind  they  are  incessant,  and  all 
woildly  relations  hang  very  loosely  about  him,  becoming,  as 
it  were,  a  transparent  fluid  membrane  through  which  the  form 
is  alway  seen,  and  not  as  in  most  men  an  indurated  hetero- 
geneous fabric  of  many  dates,  and  of  no  settled  character,  m 
which  the  man  is  imprisoned.  Then  there  can  be  enlargement, 
and  the  man  of  to-day  scarcely  recognizes  the  man  of  yester- 
day. And  such  should  be  the  outward  biography  of  man  in 
time,  a  putting  off  of  dead  circumstances  day  by  day,  as  he 
renews  his  raiment  day  by  day.  But  to  us,  in  our  lapsed 
estate,  resting  not  advancing,  resisting,  not  co-operating  with 
the  divine  expansion,  this  growth  comes  by  shocks. 

We  cannot  part  with  our  friends.  We  cannot  let  our  angele 
go.  We  do  not  see  that  they  only  go  out,  that  archangels 
may  come  in.  We  are  idolaters  of  the  old.  We  do  not  be- 
lieve in  the  riches  of  the  soul,  in  its  proper  eternity  and  omni- 
presence. We  do  not  believe  there  is  any  force  in  to-day  to 
rival  or  re-create  that  beautiful  yesterday.  We  linger  in  the 
ruins  of  the  old  tent,  where  once  we  had  bread  and  shelter  and 
organs,  nor  believe  that  the  spirit  can  feed,  cover,  and  nerve 
us  again.  We  cannot  again  find  aught  so  dear,  so  sweet,  so 
graceful.  Bat  we  sit  and  weep  in  vain.  The  voice  of  tke 
Almighty  saith.  '  Up  and  onward  forevermore ! '  We  caonofe 


COMPENSATION. 
stay  amid  the  ruins.    Neither  wili  we 

with  reverted  ^  iike 


And  yet  the  compensations  of  calamity  are  made  anm 
to  the  understanding  also,  after  long  intervaS  o  '  tim  *  A 
fever,  a  mutilation,  a  cruel  disappointment,  a  loss  of  wealth  a 
loss  of  friends  seems  at  the  moment  unpaid  loss,  an^pay! 
able.  But  the  sure  years  reveal  the  deep  remedial  force  that 
underlies  all  facts.  The  death  of  a  dear  friend,  wife  Brother 
lover,  which  seemed  nothing  but  privation,  somewhat  LS 
assumes  the  aspect  of  a  guide  or  genius;  for  it  commonly 
operates  revolutions  in  our  way  of  life,  terminates  an  epoch  of 
infancy  or  of  youth  which  was  waiting  to  be  closed,  brTks  up 
a  wonted  occupation,  or  a  household,  or  style  of  living  and 
allows  the  formation  of  new  ones  more  friendly  to  the  growth 
of  chaiActer.  It  permits  or  constrains  the  formation  of  new 
acquaintances,  and  the  reception  of  new  influences  that  prove 
of  the  first  importance  to  the  next  years  ;  and  the  man  or 
woman  who  would  have  remained  a  sunny  garden  flower  with 
no  room  for  its  roots  and  too  much  sunshine  for  its  head,  by 
the  falling  of  the  walls  and  the  neglect  of  the  gardener  is 
made  the  banian  of  the  forest,  yielding  shade  and  fruit  to  wide 
neighlx  ./hood*  of  men. 


SPIRITUAL 


ESSAY  IV. 
SPIRITUAL  LAWS. 


'  he  act  of  reflection  takes  place  in  the  mind,  when 
w«  look  at  ourselves  in  the  light  of  thought,  we  discover  that 
our  life  is  embosomed  in  beauty.  Behind  us,  as  we  go,  all 
things  assume  pleasing  forms,  as  clouds  do  far  off.  Not  only 
things  familiar  and  stale,  but  even  the  tragic  and  terrible  are 
comely,  as  they  take  their  place  in  the  pictures  of  memory. 
The  river-bank,  the  weed  at  the  water-side,  the  old  house,  the 
foolish  person, — however  neglected  in  the  passing, — have  a 
grace  in  the  past.  Even  the  corpse  that  has  lain  in  the 
chambers  has  added  a  solemn  ornament  to  the  house.  The 
soul  will  not  know  either  deformity  or  pain.  If  in  the  hours 
of  clear  reason  we  should  speak  the  severest  truth,  we  should 
say,  that  we  had  never  made  a  sacrifice.  In  these  hours  the 
mind  seems  so  great,  that  nothing  can  be  taken  from  us  that 
seems  much.  All  loss,  all  pain  is  particular  :  the  universe  re- 
mains to  the  heart  unhurt.  Distress  never,  trifles  never  abate 
our  trust.  No  man  ever  stated  his  griefs  as  lightly  as  he 
might.  Allow  for  exaggeration  in  the  most  patient  and  sorely 
ridden  hack  that  ever  was  driven.  For  it  is  only  the  finite 
that  has  wrought  and  suffered ;  the  infinite  lies  stretched  in 
smiling  repose. 

The  intellectual  life  may  be  kept  clean  and  healthful,  if  man 
will  live  the  life  of  nature,  and  not  import  into  his  mind  diffi- 
culties which  are  none  of  his.  No  man  need  be  perplexed  hi 
his  speculations.  Let  him  do  and  say  what  strictly  belongs  to 
him,  and  though  very  ignorant  of  books,  his  nature  shall  not 
yield  him  any  intellectual  obstructions  and  doubts.  Our 
young  people  are  diseased  with  the  theological  problems  of 
original  sin,  origin  of  evil,  predestination,  and  the  like. 
These  never  presented  a  practical  difficulty  to  any  man, — 
never  darkened  across  any  man's  road,  who  did  not  go 
out  of  his  way  to  seek  them.  These  are  the  soul's  mumps 
and  measles,  and  whooping-coughs,  and  those  ffho  have 
not  caught  them,  cannot  describe  their  health  or  prescribe 
the  cure.  A  simple  mind  will  not  know  these  enemies. 

(Ill 


ESSAYS. 

It  is  quite  another  thing  that  he  should  be  able  to 
account  of  bis  faith,  and  expound  to  another  the  theory  of  his 
•elf-union  and  freedom.  This  requires  rare  gifts.  Yetwitfe. 
out  this  self-knowledge,  there  may  be  a  sylvan  strength  and 
integrity  in  that  which  he  is.  "  A  few  strong  instincts  and  f\ 
few  plain  rules  "  suffice  us. 

My  will  never  gave  the  images  in  my  mind  the  rank  they 
low  take.  The  regular  course  of  studies,  the  years  o£ 
icadeiuical  and  professional  education  have  not  yielded  ma 
uutter  foots  than  some  idle  books  under  the  bench  at  tha 
Latin  school.  What  we  do  not  call  education  is  more  pi& 
cious  than  that  which  we  call  so.  We  form  no  guess  at  th@ 
JiiLe  of  receiving  a  thought,  of  its  comparative  value.  And 
education  often  wastes  its  effort  in  attempts  to  thwart  and 
baulk  this  natural  magnetism  which  with  sure  discrimination 
selects  its  own. 

In  like  manner,  onr  moral  nature  is  vitiated  by  any  inter- 
ference cf  our  will.  People  represent  virtue  as  a  struggle, 
and  take  to  themselves  great  airs  upon  their  attainments,  and 
the  question  is  everywhere  vexed,  when  a  noble  nature  is 
commended,  Whether  tbe  man  is  not  better  who  strives  with 
temptation;  But  there  .Js  no  merit  in  the  matter.  Either 
God  is  there,  or  he  is  not  there.  We  love  characters  in  pro- 
portion as  they  are  impulsive  and  spontaneous.  The  less  a 
man  thinks  or  knows  about  his  virtues,  the  better  we  like  him. 
Timoleon's  victories  are  the  best  victories ;  which  ran  and 
flowed  like  Homer's  verses,  Plutarch  said.  When  we  see  a 
soul  whose  acts  are  all  regal,  graceful  and  pleasant  as  roses, 
we  must  thank  God  that  such  things  can  be  and  are,  and  not 
turn  sourly  on  the  angel,  and  say,  '  Crump  is  a  better  man 
with  his  grunting  resistance  to  all  his  native  devils.' 

Not  less  conspicuous  is  the  preponderance  of  nature  over 
will  in  all  practical  life.  There  is  less  intention  in  history 
than  we  ascribe  to  it.  We  impute  deep-laid,  fer-sighted  plans 
to  Caesar  and  Napoleon  ;  but  the  best  of  their  power  was  in 
nature,  not  in  them.  Men  of  an  extraordinary  success,  in 
their  honest  moments,  have  always  sung,  *  Not  unto  us,  nofc 
unto  us.'  According  to  the  faith  of  their  times,  they  have 
built  altars  to  Fortune  or  to  Destiny,  or  to  St.  Julian. 
Their  success  lay  in  their  parallelism  to  the  course  of  thought, 
which  found  in  them  an  unobstructed  channel;  and  the 
wonders  of  which  they  were  the  visible  conductors,  seemed  to 
toe  eye  their  deed  Did  the  wires  generate  fche  galvanism  ? 
it  is  even  true  that  there  was  Jess  in  then?  on  which  thej 
could  reflect,  than  in  another ;  aa  *lw  virtwe  of  9.  {4p«  if  to  i 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS.  <B 

smooth  and  hollow.  That  which  externally  seemed  will  and 
immovableness,  was  willingness  and  self-annihilation.  Could 
Shakspeare  give  a  theory  of  Shakspeare  ?  Could  ever  a  man 
of  prodigious  mathematical  genius  convey  to  others  any  in. 
sight  into  his  methods  ?  If  he  could  communicate  that  secret, 
instantly  it  would  lose  all  its  exaggerated  value,  blending  with 
the  daylight  and  the  vital  energy,  the  power  to  stand  and  to 
go. 

The  lesson  is  forcibly  taught  by  these  observations  that  our 
life  might  be  much  easier  and  simpler  than  we  make  it, 
that  the  world  might  be  a  happier  place  than  it  is,  that 
there  is  no  need  of  struggles,  convulsions,  and  despairs,  of  the 
wringing  of  the  hands  and  the  gnashing  of  the  teeth ;  that  we 
miscreate  our  own  evils.  We  interfere  with  the  optimism  of 
nature ;  for,  whenever  we  get  this  vantage-ground  of  the  past, 
or  of  a  wiser  mind  in  the  present,  we  are  able  to  discern  that 
we  are  begirt  with  spiritual  laws  which  execute  themselves. 

The  face  of  external  nature  teaches  the  same  lesson  with 
calm"  superiority.  Nature  will  not  have  us  fret  and  fume, 
She  does  not  like  our  benevolence  or  our  learning,  much  better 
than  she  likes  our  frauds  and  wars.  When  we  come  out  of 
the  caucus,  or  the  bank,  or  the  Abolition  convention,  or  the 
Temperance  meeting,  or  the  Transcendental  club,  into  the 
fields  and  woods,  she  says  to  us,  "  So  hot  ?  my  little  sir." 

We  are  full  of  mechanical  actions.  We  must  needs  inter- 
meddle, and  have  things  in  our  own  way,  until  the  sacrifices 
and  virtues  of  society  are  odious.  Love  should  make  joy ; 
but  our  benevolence  is  unhappy.  Our  Sunday  schools  and 
churches  and  pauper-societies  are  yokes  to  the  neck.  We 
pain  ourselves  to  please  nobody,  there  are  natural  ways  of 
arriving  at  the  same  ends  at  which  these  aim,  but  do  not 
arrive.  Why  should  all  virtue  work  in  one  and  the  same 
way  ?  Why  should  all  give  dollars  ?  It  is  very  inconvenient 
to  us  country  folk,  and  we  do  not  think  any  good  will  come 
of  it.  We  have  not  dollars.  Merchants  have.  Let  them  give 
them.  Farmers  will  give  corn.  Poets  will  sin£  Women 
will  sew.  Laborers  will  lend  a  hand.  The  children  will  bring 
flowers.  And  why  drag  this  dead  weight  of  a  Sunday  school 
over  the  whole  Christendom  ?  It  is  natural  and  beautiful  that 
childhood  should  inquire,  and  maturity  should  teach  ;  but  it 
is  time  enough  to  answer  questions,  when  they  are  asked. 
Do  not  shut  up  the  young  people  against  their  will  in  a  pew, 
and  force  the  children  to  ask  them  questions  for  an  hour 
against  their  will. 

If  we  look  wider,  things  are  all  alike ;  laws,  and  letter* 


||  tfHttSSON'S  E88AT& 

and  creeds  and  modes  of  living,  seem  a  travestie  01  truth. 
Our  society  is  encumbered  by  ponderous  machinery  which  re- 
sembles  the  endless  aqueducts  which  the  Romans  built  over 
hill  and  dale,  and  which  are  superseded  by  the  discovery  of 
the  law  that  water  rises  to  the  level  of  its  source,  It  is  a 
Chinese  wall  which  any  nimble  Tartar  can  leap  over.  It  is  a 
standing  army,  not  so  good  as  a  peace.  It  is  a  graduated, 
titled,  richly  appointed  Empire,  quite  superfluous  when  Town- 
meetings  are  found  to  answer  just  as  well. 

Let  us  draw  a  lesson  from  nature,  which  always  works  by 
short  ways.  When  the  fruit  is  ripe,  it  falls.  When  the  fruit 
is  despatched,  the  leaf  falls.  The  circuit  of  the  waters  is 
mere  falling.  The  walking  of  man  and  all  animals  is  a  falling 
forward.  All  our  manual  labor  and  words  of  strength,  as 
prying,  splitting,  digging,  rowing,  and  so  forth,  are  done  by 
dint  of  continual  falling,  and  the  globe,  earth,  moon,  comet, 
sun,  star,  fall  forever  and  ever. 

The  simplicity  of  the  universe  is  very  different  from  the 
simplicity  of  a  machine.  He  who  sees  moral  nature  out  and 
out,  and  thoroughly  knows  how  knowledge  is  acquired  and 
character  formed,  is  a  pedant.  The  simplicity  of  nature  is 
not  that  which  may  easily  be  read,  but  is  inexhaustible.  The 
last  analysis  can  no  wise  be  made.  We  judge  of  a  man's 
wisdom  by  his  hope,  knowing  that  the  perception  of  the  iuex- 
haustibleness  of  nature  is  an  immortal  youth.  The  wild  fer- 
tility of  nature  is  felt  in  comparing  our  rigid  names  and  rep- 
utations with  our  fluid  consciousness.  We  pass  in  the  world 
for  sects  and  schools,  for  erudition  and  piety,  and  we  are  all 
the  time  jejune  babes.  One  sees  very  well  how  Pyrrhonism 
grew  up.  Every  man  sees  that  he  is  that  middle  point 
whereof  every  thing  may  be  affirmed  and  denied  with  equal 
reason.  He  is  old,  he  is  young,  he  is  very  wise,  he  Is  alto- 
gether ignorant.  He  hears  and  feels  what  you  say  of  the 
seraphim,  and  of  the  tin-pedlar.  There  is  no  permanent  wise 
man,  except  in  the  figment  of  the  stoics.  We  side  with  the 
hero,  as  we  read  or  paint,  against  the  coward  and  the  robber  ; 
but  we  have  been  ourselves  that  coward  and  robber,  and  shall 
be  again,  not  in  the  low  circumstance,  but  in  comparison  with 
the  grandeurs  possible  to  the  soul. 


A  little  consideration  of  what  takes  place  around  us  every 
day,  would  show  us  that  a  higher  law,  than  that  of  our  will, 
regulates  events ;  that  our  painful  labors  are  very  unneces- 
sary, and  altogether  fruitless ;  that  only  in  our  easy,  simple, 
spontaneous  action  are  we  strong,  and  by  contenting  ourselves 
with  obedience  we  become  divine.  Belief  and  love,—a  believ- 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS.  75 

ing  love  will  relieve  us  of  a  vast  load  of  care.  O  my  brothers, 
God  exists.  There  is  a  soul  at  the  centre  of  nature,  and  over 
the  will  of  every  man,  so  that  none  of  us  can  wrong  the  uni- 
verse.  It  has  so  infused  its  strong  enchantment  into  nature, 
that  we  prosper  when  we  accept  its  advice,  and  when  we 
struggle  to  wound  its  creatures,  our  hands  are  glued  to  our 
sides,  or  they  beat  our  own  breasts.  The  whole  course  of 
things  goes  to  teach  us  faith.  We  need  only  obey.  There  i? 
guidance  for  each  of  us,  and  by  lowly  listening  we  shall  hea: 
the  right  word.  Why  need  you  choose  so  painfully  youi 
place,  and  occupation,  and  associates,  and  modes  of  action, 
and  of  entertainment  ?  Certainly  there  is  a  possible  right  for 
you  that  precludes  the  need  of  balance  and  wilful  election. 
For  you  there  is  a  reality,  a  fit  place  and  congenial  duties. 
Place  yourself  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  of  power  and  wis- 
dom which  flows  into  you  as  life,  place  yourself  in  the  full 
centre  of  that  flood,  then  you  are  without  effort  impelled  to 
truth,  to  right,  and  a  perfect  contentment.  Then  you  put  all 
gainsayers  in  the  wrong.  Then  you  are  the  world,  the  meas- 
ure of  right,  of  truth,  of  beauty.  If  we  will  not  be  mar- 
plots  with  our  miserable  interferences,  the  work,  the  society, 
letters,  arts,  science,  religion  of  men,  would  go  on  far  better 
than  now,  and  the  Heaven  predicted  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world,  and  still  predicted  from  the  bottom  of  the  heart, 
would  organize  itself,  as  do  now  the  rose  and  the  air  and  the 
sun. 

I  say,  do  not  choose ;  but  that  is  a  figure  of  speech  by 
which  I  would  distinguish  what  is  commonly  called  choice 
among  men,  and  which  is  a  partial  act,  the  choice  of  the 
hands,  of  the  eyes,  of  the  appetites,  and  not  a  whole  act  of 
the  man.  But  that  which  I  call  right  or  goodness,  is  the 
choice  of  my  constitution ;  and  that  which  I  call  heaven,  and 
inwardly  aspire  after,  is  the  state  or  circumstance  desirable 
to  my  constitution  ;  and  the  action  which  I  in  all  my  year- 
tend  to  do,  is  the  work  for  my  faculties.  We  must  hold  a 
man  amenable  to  reason  for  the  choice  of  his  daily  craft  or 
profession.  It  is  not  an  excuse  any  longer  for  his  deeds  that 
they  are  the  custom  of  his  trade.  What  business  has  he  with 
an  »vil  trade?  Has  he  not  a  calling  in  his  character? 

Each  man  has  his  own  vocation.  The  talent  is  the  call 
There  is  one  direction  in  which  all  space  is  open  to  him.  He 
has  faculties  silently  inviting  liim  thither  to  endless  exertion. 
He  is  like  a  ship  in  a  river ;  he  runs  against  obstructions  on 
every  side  but  one;  on  that  side,  all  obstruction  is  taker. 
away,  and  he  sweeps  serenely  over  God's  depths  into  an  ii. 


JB  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

finite  sen.  This  talent  and  this  call  depend  on  his  organiza- 
tion, or  the  mode  in  which  the  general  soul  incarnates  itself  in 
him.  He  inclines  to  do  something  which  is  easy  to  him,  and 
good  when  it  is  done,  but  which  no  other  man  can  do.  He 
has  no  rival.  For  the  more  truly  he  consults  his  own  powers, 
the  more  difference  will  his  work  exhibit  from  the  work  of 
any  other.  When  he  is  true  and  faithful,  his  ambition  is  ex- 
actly proportioned  to  his  powers.  The  height  of  the  pinnacle 
is  determined  by  the  breadth  of  the  base.  Every  man  has 
this  call  of  the  power  to  do  somewhat  unique,  and  no  man 
has  any  other  call.  The  pretence  that  he  has  another  call,  a 
summons  by  name  and  personal  election  and  outward  "  signs 
that  mark  him  extraordinary,  and  not  in  the  roll  of  common 
men,"  is  fanaticism,  and  betrays  obtuseness  to  perceive  that 
there  is  one  mind  in  all  the  individuals,  and  no  respect  of  per- 
sons therein. 

By  doing  his  work,  he  makes  the  need  felt  which  he  can 
supply.  He  creates  the  taste  by  which  he  is  enjoyed.  He 
provokes  the  wants  to  which  he  can  minister.  By  doing  his 
own  work,  he  unfolds  himself.  It  is  the  vice  of  our  public 
speaking,  that  it  has  not  abandonment.  Somewhere,  not  only 
every  orator  but  every  man  should  let  out  all  the  length  of 
all  the  reins ;  should  find  or  make  a  frank  and  hearty  expres- 
sion of  what  force  and  meaning  is  in  him.  The  common  ex- 
perience is,  that  the  man  fits  himself  as  well  as  he  can  to  the 
customary  details  of  that  work  or  trade  he  falls  into,  and 
tends  it  as  a  dog  turns  a  spit.  Then  is  he  a  part  of  the  ma« 
chine  he  moves ;  the  man  is  lost.  Until  he  can  manage  to 
communicate  himself  to  others  in  his  full  stature  and  propor- 
tion as  a  wise  and  good  man,  he  does  not  yet  find  his  voca- 
tion. He  must  find  in  that  an  outlet  for  his  character,  sc 
that  ho  may  justify  himself  to  their  eyes  for  doing  what  he 
does.  If  the  labor  is  trivial,  let  him  by  his  thinking  and 
character,  make  it  liberal  Whatever  he  knows  and  thinks. 
whatever  in  his  apprehension  is  worth  doing,  that  let  him 
Communicate,  or  men  will  never  know  and  honor  him  aright. 
toolish,  whenever  you  take  the  meanness  and  formality  of 
tnat  thing  you  do,  instead  of  converting  it  into  the  obedient 
spiracle  of  your  character  and  aims. 

We  like  only  such  actions  as  have  already  long  had  the 
*  of  men,  and  do  not  perceive  that  any  thing  man  can  do, 

7  be  divinely  done.     We  think  greatness  entailed  or  organ! 

d  in  some  places  or  duties,  in  certain  offices  or  occasions, 
and  do  not  see  that  Pagamm  can  extract  rapture  from  a  cat- 
jn^  and  Eulenstein  from  a  Jewa-barn,  <md  a  nimble-fingered 


SPIRITUAL  LAW&  ft 

lad  out  of  shreds  of  paper  with  his  scissors ;  and  Landseer  out 
of  swine,  and  the  hero  out  of  the  pitiful  habitation  and  com- 
pany  in  which  he  was  hidden.  What  we  call  obscure  condi- 
tion  or  vulgar  society,  is  that  condition  and  society  whose 
poetry  is  not  yet  written,  but  which  you  shall  presently  make 
as  enviable  and  renowned  as  any.  Accept  your  genius,  and 
say  what  you  think.  In  our  estimates,  let  us  take  a  lesson 
from  kings.  The  parts  of  hospitality,  the  connection  of  fami 
lies,  the  impressiveness  of  death,  and  a  thousand  other  things 
royalty  makes  its  own  estimate  of,  and  a  royal  mind  will.  T< 
make  habitually  a  new  estimate, — that  is  elevation. 

What  a  man  does,  that  he  has.  What  has  he  to  do  witfc 
hope  or  fear  ?  In  himself  is  his  might.  Let  him  regard  nc 
good  as  solid,  but  that  which  is  in  his  nature,  and  which  must 
grow  out  of  him  as  long  as  he  exists.  The  goods  of  fortune 
may  come  and  go  like  summer  leaves ;  let  him  play  with  them, 
and  scatter  them  on  every  wind  as  the  momentary  signs  of  his 
infinite  productiveness. 

He  may  have  his  own.  A  man's  genius*  the  quality  that 
differences  him  from  every  other,  the  susceptibility  to  one  class 
of  influences,  the  selection  of  what  is  fit  for  him,  the  rejection 
of  what  is  unfit,  determines  for  him  the  character  of  the  uni- 
verse. As  a  man  thinketh,  so  is  he,  and  as  a  man  chooseth,  so 
is  he  and  so  is  nature.  A  man  is  a  method,  a  progressive 
arrangement;  a  selecting  principle,  gathering  his  like  to  him, 
wherever  he  goes.  He  takes  only  his  own,  out  of  the  multi- 
plicity that  sweeps  and  circles  round  him.  He  is  like  one  of 
those  booms  which  are  set  out  from  the  shore  on  rivers  to 
catch  drift-wood,  or  like  the  loadstone  amongst  splinters  of 
steel. 

Those  facts,  words,  persons  whioh  dwell  in  his  memory  with- 
out his  being  able  to  say  why,  remain,  because  they  have  a  re 
!ation  to  him  not  less  real  for  being  as  yet  unapprehended 
They  are  symbols  of  value  to  him,  as  they  can  interpret  parts 
of  his  consciousness  which  he  would  vainly  seek  words  for  in 
the  conventional  images  of  books  and  other  minds.  What  at- 
tracts ray  attention  shall  have  it,  as  I  will  go  to  the  man  who 
knocks  at  my  door,  whilst  a  thousand  persons,  as  worthy,  go 
by  it,  to  whom  I  give  no  regard.  It  is  enough  that  these  par* 
ticulars  speak  to  me.  A  few  anecdotes,  a  few  traits  of  chajv 
acter,  manners,  face,  a  few  incidents  have  an  emphasis  in  youj 
memory  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  apparent  significance,  if 
you  measure  them  by  the  ordinary  standards.  They  relate  to 
your  gift.  Let  them  have  their  weight,  and  do  not  reject  them 
*ncl  cast  about  for  illustration  and  frets  more  usual  in  liter* 


«  EMERSON' S  ESSAY& 

tare.  Respect  them,  for  they  have  their  origin  in  deepest  na- 
ture. What  your  heart  thinks  great,  is  great.  The  soul's 
emphasis  is  always  right. 

Over  all  things  that  are  agreeable  to  his  nature  and  genius, 
the  man  has  the  highest  right.  Every  where  he  may  take 
what  belongs  to  his  spiritual  estate,  nor  can  he  take  any  thing 
else,  though  all  doors  were  open,  nor  can  all  the  force  of  men 
oinder  him  from  taking  so  much.  It  is  vain  to  attempt  to 
keep  a  secret  from  one  who  has  a  right  to  know  it.  It  will 
tell  itself.  That  mood  into  which  a  friend  can  bring  us,  is  his 
dominion  over  us.  To  the  thoughts  of  that  state  of  mind,  he 
has  a  right.  All  the  secrets  of  that  state  of  mind,  he  can  com. 
pel.  This  is  a  law  which  statesmen  use  in  practice.  All  the 
terrors  of  the  French  Republic,  which  held  Austria  in  awe, 
were  unable  to  command  her  diplomacy.  But  Napoleon  sent 
to  Vienna  M.  de  Narbonne,  one  of  the  old  noblesse,  with  the 
morals,  manners  and  name  of  that  interest,  saying,  that  it  was 
indispensable  to  send  to  the  old  aristocracy  of  Europe,  men  of 
the  same  connection,  which,  in  fact,  constitutes  a  sort  of  free 
masonry.  M.  Narbonne,  in  less  than  a  fortnight,  penetrated 
all  the  secrets  of  the  Imperial  Cabinet. 

A  mutual  understanding  is  ever  the  firmest  chain.  Noth- 
ing seems  so  easy  as.  to  speak  and  to  be  understood.  Yet  a 
man  may  come  to  find  that  the  strongest  of  defences  and  of 
ties,— that  he  has  been  understood ;  and  he  who  has  received 
An  opinion,  may  come  to  find  it  the  most  inconvenient  of 
bonds. 

If  a  teacher  have  any  opinion  which  he  wishes  to  conceal, 
his  pupils  will  become  as  fully  indoctrinated  into  that  as  into 
any  which  he  publishes.  If  you  pour  water  into  a  vessel 
twisted  into  coils  and  angles,  it  is  vain  to  say,  I  will  pour  it 
only  into  this  or  that ;— it  will  find  its  own  level  in  all.  Men 
feel  and  act  the  consequences  of  your  doctrine,  without  being 
able  to  show  how  they  follow.  Show  us  an  arc  of  the  curve,  > 
and  a  good  mathematician  will  find  out  the  whole  figure.  We 
are  always  reasoning  from  the  seen  to  the  unseen.  Hence  the 
perfect  intelligence  that  subsists  between  wise  men  of  remote 
ages.  A  man  cannot  bury  his  meanings  so  deep  in  his  book, 
but  time  and  like-minded  men  will  find  them.  Plato  had  a 
secret  doctrine,  had  he  ?  What  secret  can  he  conceal  from  the 
eyes  of  Bacon  ?  of  Montaigne  ?  of  Kant  ?  Therefore,  Aristotle 
said  of  his  works.  "  They  are  published  and  not  published." 

No  man  can  learn  what  he  has  not  preparation  for  learning, 
jowever  near  to  his  eyes  is  the  object.  A  chemist  may  tell 
«•  moat  precious  awrete  to  a  caipenter,  and  he  shaft  be  nem 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS.  •» 

the  wiser, — tne  secrets  he  would  not  utter  to  a  chemist  for  an 
estate.  God  screens  us  evermore  from  premature  ideas.  Our 
eyes  are  holden  that  we  cannot  see  things  that  stare  us  in  the 
face,  until  the  hour  arrives  when  the  mind  is  ripened, — then 
we  behold  them,  and  the  time  when  we  saw  them  not,  is  like  a 
dream. 

Not  in  nature  but  in  man  is  all  the  beauty  and  worth  he 
^•ces.  The  world  is  very  empty,  and  is  indebted  to  this  gild 
vig,  exalting  soul  for  all  its  pride.  "  Earth  fills  her  lap  with 
splendors"  not  her  own.  The  vale  of  Tempe,  Tivoli,  and 
Rome  are  earth  and  water,  rocks  and  sky.  There  are  as  good 
earth  and  water  in  a  thousand  places,  yet  how  unaffecting  ! 

People  are  not  the  better  for  the  sun  and  moon,  the  horizon 
and  the  trees ;  as  it  is  not  observed  that  the  keepers  of  Roman 
galleries,  or  the  valets  of  painters  have  any  elevation  of  thought, 
or  that  librarians  are  wiser  men  than  others.  There  are  graces 
in  the  demeanor  of  a  polished  and  noble  person,  which  are  lost 
upon  the  eye  of  a  churl.  These  are  like  the  stars  whose  light 
has  not  yet  reached  us. 

He  may  see  what  he  maketh.  Our  dreams  are  the  sequel 
of  our  waking  knowledge.  The  visions  of  the  night  always 
bear  some  proportion  to  the  visions  of  the  day.  Hideous 
dreams  are  only  exaggerations  of  the  sins  of  the  day.  We  see 
our  own  evil  affections  embodied  in  bad  physiognomies.  On 
the  Alps,  the  traveller  sometimes  sees  his  own  shadow  magni- 
fied to  a  giant,  so  that  svery  gesture  of  his  hand  is  terrific. 
"  My  children,"  said  an  old  man  to  his  boys  scared  by  a  figure 
in  the  dark  entry,  "  my  children  you  will  never  see  any  thing 
worse  than  yourselves.''  As  in  dreams,  so  in  the  scarcely  less 
fluid  events  of  the  world,  every  man  sees  himself  in  colossal, 
without  knowing  that  it  is  himself  that  he  sees.  The  good 
which  he  sees,  compared  to  the  evil  which  he  sees,  is  as  his 
own  good  to  his  own  evil.  Every  quality  of  his  mind  is  mag- 
nified in  some  one  acquaintance,  and  every  emotion  of  his  heart 
in  some  one.  He  is  like  a  quincunx  of  trees,  which  counts 
five,  east,  west,  north,  or  south ;  or,  an  initial,  medial,  and 
terminal  acrostic.  And  why  not  ?  He  cleaves  to  one  person, 
and  avoids  another,  according  to  their  likeness  or  unlikenes8 
to  himself,  truely  seeking  himself  in  his  associates,  and  more- 
over in  his  trade,  and  habits,  and  gestures,  and  meats,  and 
drinks  ;  and  comes  at  last  to  be  faithfully  represented  by  every 
view  you  take  of  his  circumstances. 

He  may  read  what  he  writeth.  What  can  we  see  or  acquire, 
but  what  we  are  ?  You  have  seen  a  skilful  man  reading  VirgiL 
Well,  that  author  is  a  thousand  books  to  a  thousand  person* 


«,  EMEBSON'8  ESSAYS. 

Take  the  book  into  your  two  hands  and  read  your  eyes  outf 
you  will  never  find  what  I  find.  If  any  ingen.iow  reader 
would  have  u  monopoly  of  the  wisdom  or  delight  he  gets,  u«  «j 
ae  secure  now  the  book  is  Englished,  as  if  it  were  imprisoned 
in  the  Pelews  tongue.  It  is  with  a  good  book  as  it  is  witt 
good  company.  Introduce  a  base  person  among  gentlemen . 
it  is  all  to  no  purpose :  he  is  not  their  fellow.  Every  societj 
protects  itself.  The  company  is  perfectly  safe,  and  he  is  no< 
one  of  them,  though  his  body  is  in  the  room. 

What  avails  it  to  fight  with  the  eternal  laws  of  mind,  whicL 
adjust  the  relation  of  all  persons  to  each  other,  by  the  mathe- 
matical measure  of  their  havings  and  beings  ?  Gertrude  k 
enamored  of  Guy  ;  how  high,  how  aristocratic,  how  Roman  his 
mien  and  manners  !  to  live  with  him  were  life  indeed :  and  no 
purchase  is  too  great ;  and  heaven  and  earth  are  moved  to  that 
end.  Well,  Gertrude  has  Guy :  but  what  now  avails  how 
high,  how  aristocratic,  how  Roman  his  mien  and  manners,  if 
his  heart  and  aims  are  in  the  senate,  in  the  theatre,  and  in  the 
billiard  room,  and  she  has  no  aims,  no  conversation  that  can 
enchant  her  graceful  lord  ? 

He  shall  have  his  own  society.  We  can  love  nothing  but 
nature.  The  most  wonderful  talents,  the  most  meritorious 
exertions  really  avail  very  little  with  us;  but  nearness  or 
likeness  of  nature, — how  beautiful  is  the  ease  f.  its  victory  ! 
Persons  approach  us  famous  for  their  beauty,  *br  their  accom- 
plishments, worthy  of  all  wonder  for  their  charms  and  gifts  : 
they  dedicate  their  whole  skill  to  the  hour  and  the  compan}' ; 
with  very  imperfect  result.  To  be  sure,  it  would  be  very  un- 
grateful in  us  not  to  praise  them  very  loudly.  Then,  when  all 
IB  done,  a  person  of  related  mind,  a  brother  or  sister  by  nature, 
comes  to  us  so  softly  and  easily,  so  nearly  and  intimately,  as 
if  it  were  the  blood  in  our  proper  veins,  that  we  feel  as  '.f  sonu 
one  was  gone,  instead  of  another  having  come ;  we  are  utterly 
telieved  and  refreshed :  it  is  a  sort  of  joyful  solitude.  Wt 
foolishly  think,  hi  our  days  of  sin,  that  we  must  court  friend 
by  compliance  to  the  customs  cf  society,  to  its  dress,  its  breed 
ing  and  its  estimates.  But  later,  if  we  are  so  happy,  we  leai ?. 
that  only  that  soul  can  be  my  friend,  which  I  encounter  on  the 
line  of  ray  own  march,  that  soul  to  which  I  do  not  decline,  and 
which  does  not  decline  to  me,  but,  native  of  the  same  celestial 
latitude,  repeats  hi  its  own  all  my  experience.  The  scholar 
and  the  prophet  forget  themselves,  and  ape  the  customs  and 
costumes  of  the  man  of  the  world,  to  deserve  the  smile  of 
beauty.  He  is  a  fool  and  follows  some  giddy  girl,  and  not 
With  religious,  ennobling  passion,  a  woman  with  all  that  iff 


LAWS.  g* 

Serene,  oracular  ani  beautiful  in  her  soul.  Let  him  be  ,/rcat 
and  love  shall  follow  him.  Nothing  is  more  deeply  punished 
Jhan  the  neglect  of  fehe  affinities  by  which  alone  society  should 
be  formed,  and  tlw  insane  levity  of  choosing  associates  by 
others'  eyes. 

He  may  set  his  own  rate.  It  is  an  universal  maxim  worthy 
Of  all  acceptation,  that  a  man-  may  have  that  allowance  he 
takes.  Take  the  place  and  attitude  to  which  you  see  youi 
unquestionable  right,  and  all  men  acquiesce.  The  world  mus 
be  just.  It  always  leaves  every  man  with  profound  uncon 
cern  to  set  his  own  rate.  Hero  or  driveller,  it  meddles  not  ir 
the  matter.  It  will  certainly  accept  your  own  measure  of 
your  doing  and  being,  whether  you  sneak  about  and  deny 
your  own  name,  or,  whether  you  see  your  work  produced  to 
the  concave  sphere  of  the  heavens,  one  with  the  revolution  of 
the  stars. 

the  same  reality  pervades  all  teaching.  The  many  may 
teach  by  doing,  and  not  otherwise.  If  he  can  communicate 
himself,  he  can  teach,  but  net  by  words.  He  teaches  who 
gives,  and  he  learns  who  receives.  There  is  no  teaching  until 
the  pupil  is  brought  into  the  same  state  or  principle  in  which 
you  are ;  a  transfusion  takes  place :  he  is  you,  and  you  are 
he ;  then  is  a  teaching,  and  by  no  unfriendty  chance  or  bad 
company  can  he  ever  quite  lose  the  benefit.  But  your  propo- 
sitions  run  out  of  one  ear  as  they  ran  in  at  the  other.  We  see 
it  advertised  that  Mr.  Grand  will  deliver  an  oration  on  the 
Fourth  of  July >  and  Mr.  Hand  before  the  Mechanics'  Associa- 
tion, and  we  do  not  go  thither,  because  we  know  that  these  gen- 
tlemen will  not  communicate  their  own  character  and  being  to 
the  audience.  If  we  had  reason  to  expect  such  a  communica- 
tion, we  should  go  through  all  inconvenience  and  opposition. 
The  sick  would  be  carried  in  litters.  But  a  public  oration  If 
an  escapade,  a  non-committal,  an  apology,  a  gag,  and  not  a 
communication,  not  a  speech,  not  a  man. 

A  like  Nemesis  presides  over  all  intellectual  works.  We 
have  yet  to  learn,  that  the  thing  uttered  in  words  is  not  there- 
fore affirmed.  It  must  affirm  itself,  or  no  forms  of  grammar 
and  no  plausibility  can  give  it  evidence,  and  no  array  of  argu- 
ments. The  sentence  must  also  contain  its  own  apology  for 
being  spoken. 

The  effect  of  any  writing  on  the  public  mind  is  mathematic- 
ally measurable  by  its  depth  of  thought.  How  much  watei 
does  it  draw  ?  If  it  awaken  you  to  think  ;  if  it  lift  you  from 
your  feet  with  the  great  voice  of  eloquence ;  then  the  effect  ia 
to  bfo  wide,  slow,  permanent,  over  the  minds  of  men;  if  the 


pages 
The  'A 


EJfEBSON'8 

instruct  yon  not,  they  will  die  like  flies  in  the  hom 
._  way  to  speak  and  write  what  shall  not  go  out  of  fashio^ 
is,  to  speak  and  write  sincerely.  The  argument  which  has  not 
power  to  reach  my  own  practice,  I  may  well  doubt>  will  fail  to 
reach  yours.  But  take  Sidney's  maxim :  "  Look  in  thy  heart, 
and  write."  He  that  writes  to  himself,  writes  to  an  eternal 
public  That  statement  only  is  fit  to  be  made  public  which 
you  have  come  at  in  attempting  to  satisfy  your  own  curiosity. 
The  writer  who  takes  his  subject  from  his  ear  and  not  from 
his  heart,  should  know  that  he  has  lost  as  much  as  he  seema 
to  have  gained,  and  when  the  empty  book  has  gathered  all  its 
praise,  and  half  the  people  say — '  what  poetry  !  what  genius ! ' 
it  still  needs  fuel  to  make  fire.  That  only  profits  which  is 
profitable.  Life  alone  can  impart  life ;  and  though  we  should 
burst,  we  can  only  be  valued  as  we  make  ourselves  valuable. 
There  is  no  luck  in  literary  reputation.  They  who  make  up 
the  final  verdict  upon  every  book,  are  not  the  partial  and  noisy 
readers  of  the  hour  when  it  appears ;  but  a  court  as  of  angels, 
a  public  not  to  be  bribed,  not  to  be  entreated,  and  not  to  be 
overawed,  decides  upon  every  man's  title  to  fame.  Only  those 
books  come  down  which  deserve  to  last.  All  the  gilt  edges 
and  vellum  and  morocco,  all  the  presentation-copies  to  all  the 
libraries  will  not  preserve  a  book  in  circulation  beyond  its  in- 
trinsic date.  It  must  go  with  all  Walpole's  Noble  and  Royal 
Authors  to  its  late.  Blackmore,  Kotzebue,  or  Pollok  may  en- 
dure for  a  night,  but  Moses  and  Homer  stand  forever.  There 
are  not  in  the  world  at  any  one  time  more  than  a  dozen  per- 
sons who  read  and  understand  Plato : — never  enough  to  pay 
for  an  edition  of  his  works ;  yet  to  every  generation  these 
come  duly  down,  for  the  sake  o  those  few  persons,  as  if  God 
brought  them  in  his  hand.  "  No  book,"  said  Bentley,  "  was 
ever  written  down  by  any  but  itself."  The  permanence  of  all 
books  is  fixed  by  no  effort  friendly  or  hostile,  but  by  their 
owr  specific  gravity,  or  the  intrinsic  importance  of  their  con* 
fcentp  to  the  constant  mind  of  man.  "  Do  not  trouble  yourself 
too  much  about  the  light  on  your  statue,"  said  Michael 
Angelo  to  the  young  sculptor ;  "  the  light  of  the  public  square 
will  test  its  value." 

In  like  manner  the  effect  of  every  action  is  measured  by  the 
depth  of  the  sentiment  from  which  it  proceeds.  The  great 
man  knew  not  that  he  was  great.  It  took  a  centurv  or  two, 
for  that  fact  to  appear.  What  he  did,  he  did  because  he  must : 
e  used  no  election :  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world ,  and  grew  out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  But 
now,  every  thing  he  did,  even  to  the  lifting  of  his  finger  or 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS.  83 

the  eating  of  bread,  looks  large,  all-related,  and  is  called  an  in 
stitutiou. 

These  are  the  demonstrations  in  a  few  particulars  of  the 
genius  of  nature :  they  show  the  direction  of  the  stream.  But 
the  stream  is  blood :  every  drop  is  alive.  Truth  has  not  single 
victories  :  all  things  are  its  organs,  not  only  dust  and  stones, 
but  errors  and  lies.  The  laws  cf  disease,  physicians  say,  are 
as  beautiful  as  the  laws  f  health.  Our  philosophy  is  affirma* 
tive,  and  readily  accepts  the  testimony  of  negative  facts,  as 
every  shadow  points  to  the  sun.  By  a  divine  necessity,  everj 
feet  in  nature  is  constrained  to  offer  its  testimony. 

Human  character  does  evermore  publish  itself.  It  will  not 
be  concealed.  It  hates  darkness, — it  rushes  into  light.  The 
most  fugitive  deed  and  word,  the  mere  air  of  doing  a  thing, 
the  intimated  purpose,  expresses  character,  if  you  act,  you 
show  character ;  if  you  sit  still,  you  show  it ;  if  you  sleep,  you 
show  it.  You  think  because  you  have  spoken  nothing,  when 
others  spoke,  and  have  given  no  opinion  on  the  times,  on  the 
church,  on  slavery,  on  the  college,  on  parties  and  persons,  that 
yjur  verdict  is  still  expected  with  curiosity  as  a  reserved 
wisdom.  Far  otherwise;  your  silence  answers  very  loud. 
You  have  no  oracle  to  utter,  and  your  fellow-men  have  learned 
that  you  cannot  help  them ;  for,  oracles  speak.  Doth  not 
wisdom  cry,  and  understanding  put  forth  her  voice? 

Dreadful  limits  are  set  in  nature  to  the  powers  f  dissimula- 
tion. Truth  tyrannizes  orer  the  unwilling  members  of  the 
body.  Faces  never  lie,  it  is  said.  No  man  need  be  deceived, 
who  will  study  the  changes  of  expression.  When  a  man 
speaks  the  truth  in  the  spirit  '  f  truth,  his  eye  is  as  clear  as 
the  heavens.  When  he  has  base  ends,  and  speaks  falsely,  the 
eye  is  muddy  and  sometimes  asquint. 

I  have  heard  an  experienced  counsellor  say.  that  he  feared 
never  the  effect  upon  a  jury,  of  a  lawyer  who  does  not  believe 
In  his  heart  that  his  client  ought  to  have  a  verdict.  If  he 
does  not  believe  it,  his  unbelief  will  appear  to  the  jury,  despite 
all  his  protestations,  and  will  become  their  unbelief.  This  is 
that  law  whereby  a  work  of  art,  of  whatever  kind,  sets  us  in 
the  same  state  of  mind  wherein  the  artist  was,  when  he  made 
it.  That  which  we  do  not  believe,  we  cannot  adequately  say, 
though  we  may  repeat  the  words  never  so  often.  It  was 
this  conviction  which  Swedenborg  expressed,  when  he  de- 
scribed a  group  of  persons  in  the  spiritual  world  endeavoring 
in  vain  to  articulate  a  proposition  which  they  did  not  believe : 
but  they  could  not,  though  they  twisted  and  folded  their  lipe 


81  WESSON'S  ESSAYS. 

A  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth.  Very  idle  is  aft 
curiosity  concerning  other  people's  estimate  of  us,  and  idle  is 
all  fear  of  remaining  unknown.  If  a  man  know  that  he  can 
do  any  thing,— that  he  can  do  it  better  than  any  one  else, — he 
has  a  pledge  of  the  acknowledgment  of  that  fact  by  all  per. 
sons.  The  world  is  full  of  judgment  days,  and  into  every  as- 
sembly that  a  man  enters,  in  every  action  he  attempts,  he  ia 
gauged  and  stamped.  In  every  troop  of  boys  that  whoop  and 
:un  in  each  yard  and  square,  a  new  comer  is  as  well  and  ac* 
•jurately  weighed  in  the  balance,  in  the  course  of  a  few  clays, 
and  stamped  with  his  right  number,  as  if  he  had  undergone  a 
formal  trial  of  his  strength,  speed,  and  temper.  A  stranger 
comes  from  a  distant  school,  with  better  dress,  with  trinkets  in 
his  pockets,  with  airs,  and  pretension  :  an  old  boy  sniffs 
thereat,  and  says  to  himself, '  It's  of  no  use :  we  shall  find  him 
out  to-morrow.'  '  What  hath  he  done?'  is  the  divine  question 
which  searches  men,  and  transpierces  every  false  reputation. 
A  fop  may  sit  in  any  chair  of  the  world,  nor  be  distinguished 
for  his  hour  from  Homer  and  Washington ;  but  there  can 
never  be  any  doubt  concerning  the  respective  ability  of  human 
beings,  when  we  seek  the  truth.  Pretension  may  sit  still,  but 
cannot  act.  Pretension  never  feigned  an  act  of  real  great- 
ness. Pretension  never  wrote  an  Iliad,  nor  dro^e  back 
Xerxes,  nor  christianized  the  world,  nor  abolished  slavery. 

Always  as  much  virtue  as  there  is,  so  much  appears  ;  as 
much  goodness  as  there  is,  so  much  reverence  it  commands. 
All  the  devils  respect  virtue.  The  high,  the  generous,  the 
self-devoted  sect  will  always  instruct  and  command  mankind. 
Never  a  sincere  word  was  utterly  lost.  Never  a  magnanimity 
fell  to  the  ground.  Always  the  heart  of  man  greets  and  ac- 
cepts it  unexpectedly.  A  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth. 
What  he  is,  engraves  itself  on  his  face,  on  his  form,  on  his 
fortunes,  in  letters  of  light  which  all  men  may  read  but  him- 
self.  Concealment  avails  him  nothing.  Boasting,  nothing. 
There  is  confession  in  the  glances  of  our  eyes ;  in  our  smiles  ; 
in  salutations;  and  the  grasp  of  hands.  His  sin  bedaubs  him, 
mars  all  his  good  impression.  Men  know  not  why  they  do  not 
trust  him  ;  but  they  do  not  trust  him.  His  vice  glasses  his 
eye,  demeans  his  cheek,  pinches  the  nose,  sets  the  mark  of 
the  beast  on  the  back  of  the  head,  and  writes  O  fool !  fool !  on 
the  forehead  of  a  king. 

If  you  would  not  be  known  to  do  any  thing,  never  do  it. 
A  man  may  play  the  fool  in  the  drifts  of  a  desert,  but  every 
gram  of  sand  shall  seem  to  see.  He  may  be  a  solitary  eater, 
Out  he  cannot  keep  his  foolish  counsel  A  broken  complex* 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS.  85 

ion,  a  swinish  look,  ungenerous  acts,  and  the  want  of  due 
knowledge, — all  blab.  Can  a  cook,  a  Chiffinch,  and  lachimo 
be  mistaken  for  Zeno  or  Paul  ?  Confucius  exclaimed,  "  How 
can  a  man  be  concealed !  How  can  a  man  be  concealed  1  " 

On  the  other  hand,  the  hero  fears  not,  that  if  he  withhold  the 
avowal  of  a  just  and  brave  act,  it  will  go  unwitnessed  and  un- 
loved. One  knows  it, — himself, — and  is  pledged  by  it  to 
sweetness  of  peace,  and  to  nobleness  of  aim,  which  will  prove 
.n  the  end  a  better  proclamation  of  it  than  the  relating  of  the 
incident.  Virtue  is  the  adherence  in  action  to  the  nature  of 
things,  and  the  nature  of  things  makes  it  prevalent.  It  con- 
sists in  a  perpetual  substitution  of  being  for  seeming,  and 
with  sublime  propriety  God  is  described  as  saying,  I  AM. 

The  lesson  which  all  these  observations  convey,  is,  Be  and 
not  seem.  Let  us  acquiesce.  Let  us  take  our  bloated  noth- 
ingness out  of  the  path  of  the  divine  circuits.  Let  us  unlearn 
our  wisdom  of  the  world.  Let  us  lie  low  in  the  Lord's  power, 
and  learn  that  truth  alone  makes  rich  and  great. 

If  you  visit  your  friend,  why  need  you  apologize  for  not 
having  visited  him,  and  waste  his  time  and  deface  your  own 
act  ?  Visit  him  now.  Let  him  feel  that  the  highest  love  has 
come  to  see  him,  in  thee  its  lowest  organ,  Or  why  need  you 
torment  yourself  and  friend  by  secret  self-reproaches  that  you 
have  not  assisted  him  or  complimented  him  with  gifts  and 
salutations  heretofore  ?  Be  a  gift  and  a  benediction.  Shine 
with  real  light,  and  not  with  the  borrowed  reflection  of  gifts. 
Common  men  are  apologies  for  men  ;  they  bow  the  head,  they 
excuse  themselves  with  prolix  reasons,  they  accumulate  ap- 
pearances, because  the  substance  is  not. 

We  are  full  of  these  superstitions  of  sense,  the  worship  of 
magnitude.  God  loveth  not  size  :  whale  and  minnow  are  of 
like  dimension.  But  we  call  the  poet  inactive,  because  he  is 
not  a  president,  a  merchant,  or  a  porter.  We  adore  an  insti- 
tution, and  do  not  see  that  it  is  founded  on  a  thought  which 
we  have.  But  real  action  is  in  silent  moments.  The  epochs 
of  our  life  are  not  in  the  visible  facts  of  our  choice  of  a  calling, 
our  marriage,  our  acquisition  of  an  office,  and  the  like,  but  in 
a  silent  thought  by  the  wayside  as  we  walk ;  in  a  thought 
which  revises  our  entire  manner  of  life,  and  says, '  Thug  haat 
thou  done,  but  it  were  better  thus.'  And  nil  our  after  years, 
like  menials,  do  eerve  and  wait  on  this,  and,  according  to  their 
ability,  do  execute  its  will.  This  reviaal  or  correction  ia  a 
constant  force,  which,  as  a  tendency,  reaches  through  our  life- 
time. The  object  of  the  man,  the  aim  of  these  moments  ia  to 
(Lake  daylight  shine  through  him,  to  suffer  the  law  to  travel 


36  EMERSON'S  ESSAT& 

his  whole  being  without  obstruction,  so  that,  on  what  point 
soever  of  his  doing  your  eye  falls,  it  shall  report  truly  of  his 
character,  whether  it  be  his  diet,  his  house,  his  religious  forms, 
his  society,  his  mirth,  his  vote,  his  opposition.  Now  he  is  not 
homogeneous,  but  heterogeneous,  and  the  ray  does  not 
traverse ;  there  are  no  thorough  lights  :  but  the  eye  of  the  be- 
holder is  puzzled,  detecting  many  unlike  tendencies,  and  a 
life  not  yet  at  one. 

Why  should  we  make  it  a  point  with  our  false  modesty  tc 
'disparage  that  man  we  are,  and  that  form  of  being  assigned  tc 
us  ?  A  good  man  is  contented.  I  love  and  honor  Epaminon* 
das,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  Epaminondas.  I  hold  it  more 
just  to  love  the  world  of  this  hour,  than  the  world  of  his 
hour.  Nor  can  you,  if  I  am  true,  excite  me  to  the  least  un- 
easiness by  saying,  '  he  acted,  and  thou  sittest  still.'  I  see 
action  to  be  good,  when  the  need  is,  and  sitting  still  to  be  also 
good.  Epaminondas,  if  he  was  the  man  I  take  him  for,  would 
have  sat  still  with  joy  and  peace,  if  his  lot  had  been  mine. 
Heaven  is  large,  and  affords  space  for  all  modes  of  love  and 
fortitude.  Why  should  we  be  busy-bodies  and  superserv- 
iceable  ?  Action  and  inaction  are  alike  to  the  true.  One 
piece  of  the  tree  is  cut  for  a  weathercock,  and  one  for  the 
sleeper  of  a  bridge ;  the  virtue  of  the  wood  is  apparent  in 
both. 

I  desire  not  to  disgrace  the  soul.  The  fact  that  I  am  here, 
certainly  shows  me  that  the  soul  had  need  of  an  organ  here. 
Shall  I  not  assume  the  post  ?  Shall  I  skulk  and  dodge  and 
duck  with  my  unseasonable  apologies  and  vain  modesty,  and 
Imagine  my  being  here  impertinent?  less  pertinent  than  Epam- 
inondas or  Homer  being  there?  and  that  the  soul  did  not 
know  its  own  needs  ?  Besides,  without  any  reasoning  on  the 
matter,  I  have  no  discontent.  The  good  soul  nourishes  me 
•Jway,  unlocks  new  magazines  of  power  and  enjoyment  to  me 
every  day.  I  will  not  meanly  decline  the  immensity  of  good, 
because  I  have  heard  that  it  has  come  to  others  in  another 
•hape. 

Besides,  why  should  we  be  cowed  by  the  name  of  Action  ? 
Tis  a  trick  of  the  senses,— no  more.  We  know  that  the  an- 
cestor of  every  action  is  a  thought.  The  poor  mind  does  not 
seem  to  itself  to  be  any  thing,  unless  it  have  an  outside  badge, 
—some  Gentoo  diet,  or  Quaker  coat,  or  Calvinistic  prayer- 
meeting,  or  philanthropic  society,  or  a  great  donation,  or  a 
high  office,  or,  any  how,  some  wild  contrasting  action  to  testify- 
that  it  is  somewhat.  The  rich  mind  lies  in  the  sun  and  sleeps. 
To  think  i§  to  act 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS.  g) 

Let  us,  if  we  must  have  great  actions,  make  our  own  so. 
All  action  is  of  an  infinite  elasticity,  and  the  least  Kdmits  of 
being  inflated  with  the  celestial  air  until  it  eclipses  the  sun 
and  moon.  Let  us  seek  one  peace  by  fidelity.  Let  me  do  my 
duties.  Why  need  I  go  gadding  into  the  scenes  and  philos- 
ophy of  Greek  and  Italian  history,  before  I  have  washed  my 
own  face,  or  justified  myself  to  my  own  benefactors?  How 
dare  I  read  Washington's  campaigns,  when  I  have  not  an- 
swerixl  the  letters  of  my  own  correspondents  ?  Is  not  that  a 
just  objection  to  much  of  our  reading  ?  It  is  a  pusillanimous 
desertion  of  our  work  to  gaze  after  our  neighbors.  It  is  peep, 
ing.  Byron  says  of  Jack  Bunting, 

"He  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  so,  he  swore.*' 

I  may  say  it  of  our  preposterous  use  of  books :  He  knew  not 
what  to  do,  and  so,  he  read.  I  can  think  of  nothing  to  fill  my 
time  with,  and  so,  without  any  constraint,  I  find  the  Life  of 
Brant.  It  is  a  very  extravagant  compliment  to  pay  to  Brant, 
or  to  General  Schuyler,  or  to  General  Washington.  M.y  time 
should  be  as  good  as  their  time :  my  world,  my  facts,  all  my 
net  of  relations  <is  good  as  theirs,  or  either  of  theirs.  Rather 
let  me  do  my  work  so  well  that  other  idlers,  if  they  choose, 
may  compare  my  texture  with  the  texture  of  these  and  find  it 
identical  with  the  best. 

This  overestimate  of  the  possibilities  of  Paul  and  Pericles, 
this  underestimate  of  our  own,  comes  from  a  neglect  of  the 
fact  of  an  identical  nature.  Bonaparte  knew  but  one  Merit, 
and  rewarded  in  one  and  the  same  way  the  good  soldier,  the 
good  astronomer,  the  good  poet,  the  good  player.  Thus  he 
signified  his  sense  of  a  great  fact.  The  poet  uses  the  names 
of  Caesar,  of  Tamerlane,  of  Bonduca,  of  Belisarius ;  the  painter 
ases  the  conventional  story  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  of  Paul,  of 
Peter.  He  does  not,  therefore,  defer  to  the  nature  of  these  ac- 
cidental men,  of  these  stock  heroes.  If  the  poet  write  a  true 
drama,  then  he  is  Caesar,  and  not  the  player  of  Caesar ;  then 
the  self-same  strain  of  thought,  emotion  as  pure,  wit  as  subtle, 
motions  as  swift,  mounting,  extravagant,  and  a  heart  as  great, 
self-smfficing,  dauntless,  which  on  the  waves  of  its  love  and 
hope  can  uplift  all  that  is  reckoned  solid  and  precious  in  the 
world,  palaces,  gardens,  money,  navies,  kingdoms, — marking 
its  own  incomparable  worth  by  the  slight  it  casts  on  these 
gauds  of  men, — these  all  are  his  and  by  the  power  of  these  he 
rouses  the  nations.  But  the  great  names  cannot  stead  him,  if 
he  have  not  life  himself.  Let  a  man  believe  in  God,  and  not 


«  KHERSON'S  £aa*»»* 

in  names  and  places  and  persons.  Le®  the  great  soul  incai 
nated  in  some  woman's  form,  poor  and  g#d  and  single,  in  sonn 
Dolly  or  Joan,  go  out  to  service,  and  nweep  chambers  and 
scour  floors,  and  its  effulgent  day-beame  cannot  be  muffled  01 
hid,  but  to  sweep  and  scour  will  instantly  appear  supreme  and 
beautiful  actions,  the  top  and  radiance  of  human  life,  and  att 
people  will  get  mops  and  brooms  ;  until,  lo,  sudden ly  the  great 
soul  has  enshrined  itself  in  some  other  form,  and  done  some 
other  deed,  and  that  is  now  the  flower  and  head  of  all  living 
nature. 

We  are  the  photometers,  we  the  irritabie  goldleaf  and  tinfoii 
that  measure  the  accumulations  of  the  subtle  element.  We 
know  the  authentic  effects  of  the  true  ftfe  through  eve.ry  on* 
of  its  million  disguises. 


tOVR 

tttt 


ESSAY  V. 
LOVE. 


EVERY  soul  is  a  celestial  Venus  to  every  other  soul  The 
heart  has  its  sabbaths  and  jubilees,  in  which  the  world  appears 
as  a  hymeneal  feast,  and  all  natural  sounds  and  the  circle  of 
the  seasons  are  erotic  odes  and  dances.  Love  is  omnipresent 
in  nature  as  motive  and  reward.  Love  is  our  highest  word, 
and  the  S3rnonym  of  God.  Every  promise  of  the  soul  has  in- 
numerable fulfilments  :  each  of  its  joys  ripens  into  a  new  want. 
Nature,  uncontaiuable,  flowing,  fore-looking,  in  the  first  senti- 
ment of  kindness  anticipates  already  a  benevolence  which  shall 
lose  all  particular  regards  in  its  general  light.  The  introduc- 
tion to  this  felicity  is  in  a  private  and  tender  relation  of  one 
to  one,  which  is  the  enchantment  of  human  life  ;  which,  like  a 
certain  divine  rage  and  enthusiasm,  seizes  on  man  at  one 
period,  and  works  a  revolution  in  his  mind  and  body  ;  unites 
him  to  his  race,  pledges  him  to  the  domestic  and  civic  rela- 
tions, carries  him  with  new  sympathy  into  nature,  enhances 
the  power  of  the  senses,  opens  the  imagination,  adds  to  his 
character  heroic  and  sacred  attributes,  establishes  marriage, 
and  gives  permanence  to  human  society. 

The  natural  association  of  the  sentiment  of  love  with  the 
heyday  of  the  blood,  seems  to  require  that  in  order  to  portray 
it  in  vivid  tints  which  every  youth  and  maid  should  confess  to 
be  true  to  their  throbbing  experience,  one  must  not  be  too  old. 
The  delicious  fancies  of  youth  reject  the  least  savor  of  a  ma- 
ture philosophy,  as  chilling  with  age  and  pedantry  their  pur- 
ple bloom.  And,  therefore,  I  know  I  incur  the  imputation  of 
unnecessary  hardness  and  stoicism  from  those  who  compose 
the  Court  and  Parliament  of  Love.  But  from  these  formidable 
censors  I  shall  appeal  to  my  seniors.  For,  it  is  to  be  consid- 
ered that  this  passion  of  which  we  speak,  though  it  begin  with 
the  young,  yet  forsakes  not  the  old,  or  rather  suffers  no  one 
who  is  truly  its  servant  to  grow  old,  but  makes  the  aged  par- 
ticipators of  it,  not  less  than  the  tender  maiden,  though  in  a 
different  and  nobler  sort.  For,  it  is  a  fire  that  kindling  its 
first  embers  in  the  narrow  nook  of  a  private  bosom,  caught 
from  a  wandering  spark  out  of  another  private  heart,  glows 

(81) 


U  XMEBSON'B  ESSA  Y& 

and  enlarges  until  it  warms  and  beams  upon  multitudes  of  men 
and  women,  upon  the  universal  heart  of  all,  and  so  lights  up 
the  whole  world  and  all  nature  with  its  generous  flames.  It 
matters  not,  therefore,  whether  we  attempt  to  describe  the 
passion  at  twenty,  at  thirty,  or  at  eighty  years.  He  who 
i taints  it  at  the  first  period,  will  lose  some  of  its  later,  he  who 
puints  it  at  the  last,  some  of  its  earlier  traits.  Only  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that  by  patience  and  the  muses'  aid,  we  ma}-  attain 
to  that  inward  view  of  the  law,  which  shall  describe  a  truth 
2ver  young,  ever  beautiful,  so  central  that  it  shall  commend 
itself  to  the  eye  at  whatever  angle  beholden. 

And  the  first  condition  is,  that  we  must  leave  a  too  close 
and  lingering  adherence  to  the  actual,  to  f^cs,  and  study  the 
sentiment  as  it  appeared  in  hope  *nd  not  in  history.  For, 
each  man  sees  his  own  life  defaced  and  disfigured,  as  the  life 
of  man  is  not,  to  his  imagination.  Each  man  sees  over  his 
own  experience  a  certain  slime  of  error,  whilst  that  of  other 
men  looks  fair  and  ideal.  Let  any  man  go  back  to  those 
delicious  relations  which  make  the  beauty  of  his  life,  which 
have  given  him  sincerest  instruction  and  nourishment,  he  will 
shrink  and  shrink.  Alas  !  I  know  not  why,  but  infinite  com- 
punctions embitter  in  mature  life  all  the  remembrances  of 
budding  sentiment,  and  cover  every  beloved  name.  Every 
thing  is  beautiful  seen  from  the  point  of  the  intellect,  or  as 
truth.  But  all  is  sour,  if  seen  as  experience.  Details  are  al- 
ways melancholy ;  the  plan  is  seemly  and  noble.  It  is 
strange  how  painful  is  the  actual  world, — the  painful  king- 
dom of  time  and  place.  There  dwells  care  and  canker  and 
fear.  With  thought,  with  the  ideal,  is  immortal  hilarity,  the 
rose  of  joy.  Round  it  all  the  muses  sing.  But  with  names 
and  persons  and  the  partial  interests  of  to-day  and  yester- 
day, is  grief. 

The  strong  bent  of  nature  Is  seen  in  the  proportion  which 

this  topic  of  personal  relations  usurps  in  the  conversation  oi 

society.     What  do  we  wish  to  know  of  any  worthy  person  so 

much  as  how  he  has  sped  in  the  history  of  this'sentiment? 

What  books  in  the  circulating  libraries  circulate  ?     How  we 

glow  over  these  novels  of  passion,  when  the  story  is  told  with 

any  spnrk  of  truth  and  nature  1     And  what  fastens  attention, 

>  intercourse  of  life,  like  any  passage  betraying  affection 

.•een  t»vo  parties  ?    Perhaps  we  never  saw  them  before, 

aii-1  rvv-  slml!  meet  thorn  again.     But  we  see  them  exchange 

irlnnce,  m-  betray  a  deep  emotion,  and  we  are  no  longer 
We  understand  them,  and  take  the  warmest  inter- 
est u>  the  development  of  the  romance.  All  mankind  love  +> 


LOVE.  M 

lover.  The  earliest  demonstrations  of  complacency  and  kind 
ness  are  nature's  most  winning  pictures.  It  is  the  dawn  ot 
civility  and  grace  in  the  coarse  and  rustic.  The  rude  village 

boy  teazes  the  girls  about  the  schoolhouse  door  ; but  to-day 

he  comes  running  into  the  entry,  and  meets  one  fair  child  ar- 
ranging her  satchel :  he  holds  her  books  to  help  her,  and  in- 
stantly it  seems  to  him  as  if  she  removed  herself  from  him  in 
finitely,  and  was  a  sacred  precinct.  Among  the  throng  of 
girls  he  runs  rudely  enough,  but  one  alone  distances  him  :  anc  \ 
these  two  little  neighbors  that  were  so  close  just  now,  have 
learned  to  respect  each  other's  personality.  Or  who  can  avert 
his  eyes  from  the  engaging,  half-artful,  half-artless  ways  of 
school  girls  who  go  into  the  country  shops  to  buy  a  skein  of 
silk  or  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  talk  half  an  hour  about  nothing, 
with  the  broad-faced,  good-natured  shop-boy,,  In  the  village, 
they  are  on  a  perfect  equality,  which  love  delights  in,  and 
without  any  coquetry  the  happy,  affectionate  nature  of  woman 
flows  out  in  this  pretty  gossip.  The  girls  may  have  little 
beauty,  yet  plainly  do  they  establish  between  them  and  the 
good  boy  the  most  agreeable,  confiding  relations,  what  with 
their  fun  and  their  earnest,  about  Edgar,  and  Jonas,  and 
Almira,  and  who  was  invited  to  the  party,  and  who  danced  at 
the  dancing  school,  and  when  the  singing  school  would  begin, 
and  other  nothings  concerning  which  the  parties  cooed.  By- 
and-by  that  boy  wants  a  wife,  and  very  truly  and  heartily  will 
he  know  where  to  find  a  sincere  and  sweet  mate,  without  any 
risk  such  as  Milton  deplores  as  incident  to  scholars  and  great 
men. 

I  have  been  told  that  my  philosophy  is  unsocial,  and,  that  in 
public  discourses,  my  reverence  for  the  intellect  makes  me  un- 
justly cold  to  the  personal  relations.  But  now  I  almost  shrink 
at  the  remembrance  of  such  disparaging  words.  For  persons 
are  love's  world,  and  the  coldest  philosopher  cannot  recount 
the  debt  of  the  young  soul  wandering  here  in  nature  to  ths 
power  of  love,  without  being  tempted  to  unsay  as  treasonable 
to  nature,  aught  derogatory  to  the  social  instincts.  For, 
though  the  celestial  rapture  falling  out  of  heaven  seizes  only 
upon  those  of  tender  age,  and  although  a  beauty  overpowering 
all  analysis  or  comparison,  and  putting  us  quite  beside  our- 
selves, we  can  seldom  see  after  thirty  years,  yet  the  remem« 
brance  of  these  visions  outlasts  all  other  remembrances,  and  is 
a  wreath  of  flowers  on  the  oldest  brows.  But  here  is  a  strange 
fact ;  it  may  seem  to  many  men  in  revising  their  experience, 
that  they  have  no  fairer  page  in  their  life's  book  than  the  deli* 
cious  memory  of  some  passages  wherein  affection  contrived  to 


«  BKKR80WS  &3SA  T& 

give  a  witchcraft  surpassing  cfae  deep  attraction  of  its  own 
truth  to  a  parcel  of  accidental  and  trivial  circumstances.  In 
looking  backward,  they  may  find  that  several  things  which 
were  not  the  charm,  have  more  reality  to  this  groping  memory 
than  the  charm  itself  which  embalmed  them.  But  be  our  ex« 
perience  in  particulars  what  it  may,  no  man  ever  forgot  the 
visitations  of  that  power  to  his  heart  and  brain,  which  created 
all  things  new ;  which  was  the  dawn  in  him  of  music,  poetry 
and  r.rt ;  which  made  the  face  of  nature  radiant  with  purple 
light,  the  morning  and  the  night  varied  enchantments ;  when  a 
single  tone  of  one  voice  could  make  the  heart  beat,  and  the 
most  trivial  circumstance  associated  with  one  form,  is  put  in 
the  amber  of  memory  :  when  we  became  all  eye  when  one  was 
present,  and  all  memory  when  one  was  gone  ;  when  the  youth 
becomes  a  watcher  of  windows,  and  studious  of  a  glove,  a  veil, 
a  ribbon,  or  the  wheels  of  a  carriage ;  when  no  place  is  too 
solitary,  and  none  too  silent  for  him  who  has  richer  company 
and  sweeter  conversation  in  his  new  thoughts,  than  any  old 
friends,  though  best  and  purest,  can  give  him ;  for,  the  figures, 
the  motions,  the  words  of  the  beloved  object  are  not  like  other 
images  written  in  water,  but,  as  Plutarch  said,  "  enamelled  in 
fire,"  and  make  the  study  of  midnight. 

"  Thoa  art  not  gone  being  gone,  where  e'er  thou  art, 

Thou  leav'st  in  him  thy  watchful  eyes,  in  him  thy  loving  heart." 
In  the  noon  and  the  afternoon  of  life,  we  still  throb  at  the 
recollection  of  days   when  happiness  was  not  happy  enough, 
but  must  be  drugged  with  the  relish  of  pain  and  fear ;  for  he 
touched  the  secret  of  the  matter,  who  said  of  IOVP, 
*  All  other  pleasures  are  not  worth  its  pains:  " 
and  when  the  day  was  not  long  enough,  but  the  night  too 
must   be  consumed   in   keen   recollections;    when  the  head 
Wtod  all  night  on  the  pillow  with  the  generous  deed  it  re- 
Jlved  on ;  when  the  moonlight  was  a  pleasing  fever,  and  the 
s  were  letters,  and   the  flowers  ciphers,  and  the  air  was 
l0!?    iimJ°  80ng;  when  a11  busines8  seemed  an  impertinence, 
a  all  the  men  and  women  running  to  and  fro  hi  the  streets 
toere  pictures. 

The  passion  re-makes  the  world  for  the  youth.  It  makes 
EvPrvT/hVe^an(L  8ignificant-  Nature  grows  conscious. 
•nd I  £  ^  A?  tbe  £°Ugh8  °f  the  tree  "fogs  now  to  his  heart 
\  ,  ust  the  notes  are  articttl»te.  The  clouds  have 
^  °n  ^  The  trees  of  ^  fo^st,  the  way. 
and  the  peeping  flowers  have  grown  intelligent :  and 
he  fears  to  trust  them  with  the  secret  which  they 


torn  IB 

seem  to  invite.    Yet  nature  soothes  and  sympathizes.    Tn  the 
green  solitude  he  finds  a  dearer  home  than  with  men. 

"  Fountain  heads  and  pathless  groves, 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves, 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  safely  housed,  save  bate  and  owls, 
A  midnight  hell,  a  passing  groan, 
These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon." 

Behold  there  in  the  wood  the  fine  madman !  He  is  a  palace 
Of  sweet  sounds  and  sights  ;  he  dilates  ;  he  is  twice  a  man ; 
he  walks  with  arms  akimbo ;  he  soliloquizes ;  he  accosts  the 
grass  and  the  trees ;  he  feels  the  blood  of  the  violet,  the  clover 
and  the  lily  in  his  veins ;  and  he  talks  with  the  brook  that 
wets  his  foot. 

The  causes  that  have  sharpened  his  perceptions  of  natural 
beauty,  have  made  him  love  music  and  verse.  It  is  a  fact 
often  observed,  that  men  have  written  good  verses  under  the 
inspiration  of  passion,  who  cannot  write  well  under  any  other 
circumstances. 

The  like  force  has  the  passion  over  all  his  nature.  It  ex- 
pands the  sentiment ;  it  makes  the  clown  gentle,  and  gives  the 
coward  heart.  Into  the  most  pitiful  and  abject;  it  will  infuse  a 
heart  and  courage  to  defy  the  world,  so  only  it  have  the 
countenance  of  the  beloved  object.  In  giving  him  to  another, 
it  still  more  gives  him  to  himself.  He  is  a  new  man,  with 
new  perceptions,  new  and  keener  purposes,  and  a  religious 
solemnity  of  character  and  aims.  He  does  not  longer  apper- 
tain to  his  family  and  society.  He  is  somewhat.  He  is  a 
person.  He  is  a  soul. 

And  here  let  us  examine  a  little  nearer  the  nature  of  that 
influence  which  is  thus  potent  over  the  human  youth.  Let  us 
approach  and  admire  Beauty,  whose  revelation  to  man  we  now 
celebrate, — beauty,  welcome  as  the  sun  wherever  it  pleases  to 
shine,  which  pleases  everybody  with  it  and  with  themselves. 
Wonderful  is  its  charm.  It  seems  sufficient  to  itself.  The 
lover  cannot  paint  his  maiden  to  his  fancy  poor  and  solitary. 
Like  a  tree  in  flower,  so  much  soft,  budding,  informing  love- 
liness is  society  for  itself,  and  she  teaches  his  eye  why  Beauty 
was  ever  painted  with  Loves  and  Graces  attending  her  steps. 
Her  existence  makes  the  world  rich.  Though  she  extrudes 
all  other  persons  from  his  attention  as  cheap  an  unworthy, yet 
she  indemnifies  him  by  carrying  out  her  own  being  into  some- 
what impersonal,  large,  mundane,  so  that  the  maiden  stands 
to  him  for  a  representative  of  all  select  things  and  virtues. 
For  that  reason  the  lover  sees  nevei  personal  resemblances  in 


qg  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS 

his  unstress  to  her  kindred  or  to  others.  His  triends  find  in 
her  a  likeness  to  her  mother,  or  her  sisters,  or  to  persons  not 
01  her  blood.  The  lover  sees  no  resemblance  except  to  sum- 
mer  evenings  and  diamond  mornings,  to  rainbows  and  the  song 
of  birds. 

Beauty  is  ever  that  divine  thing  the  ancients  esteemed  itf 
It  is,  they  said,  the  flowering  of  virtue.  Who  can  analyze  the 
nameless  charm  which  glances  from  one  and  another  face  and 
form  ?  We  are  touched  with  emotions  of  tenderness  and  com- 
placency, but  we  cannot  find  whereat  this  dainty  emotion,  this 
wandering  gleam  point.  It  is  destroyed  for  the  imagination 
by  f  iiy  attempt  to  refer  it  to  organization.  Nor  does  it  point 
to  any  relations  of  friendship  or  love  that  society  knows  and 
has,  but,  as  it  seems  to  me,  to  a  quite  other  and  unattainable 
sphere,  to  relations  of  transcendent  delicacy  and  sweetness,  a 
true  faerie  land  ;  to  what  roses  and  violets  hint  and  foreshow. 
We  cannot  get  at  beauty.  Its  nature  is  like  opaline  doves'- 
neck  lustres,  hovering  and  evanescent.  Herein  it  resembles 
the  most  excellent  things,  which  all  have  this  rainbow  char- 
acter, defying  all  attempts  at  appropriation  and  use.  What 
else  did  Jean  Paul  Richter  signify,  when  he  said  to  music, 
*  Away !  away !  thou  speakest  to  me  of  things  which  in  all 
my  endless  life  I  have  found  not,  and  shall  not  find."  The 
same  fact  may  be  observed  in  every  work  of  the  plastic  arts. 
The  statue  is  then  beautiful,  when  it  begins  to  be  incompre- 
Jiensible,  when  it  is  passing  out  of  criticism,  and  can  no  longer 
be  defined  by  compass  and  measuring  wand,  but  demands  an 
active  imagination  to  go  with  it,  and  to  say  what  it  is  in  the 
act  of  doing.  The  god  or  hero  of  the  sculptor  is  always  rep- 
resented in  a  transition  from  that  which  is  representable  to 
the  senses,  to  that  which  is  not.  Then  first  it  ceases  to  be  a 
stone.  The  same  remark  holds  of  painting.  And  of  poetry, 
the  success  is  not  attained  when  it  lulls  and  satisfies,  but  when 
it  astonishes  and  fires  us  with  new  endeavors  after  the  unat. 
tainable.  Concerning  it,  Landor  inquires  "  whether  it  is  not 
to  be  referred  to  some  purer  state  of  sensation  and  existence." 

So  must  it  be  with  personal  beauty,  which  love  worships. 
Then  first  is  it  charming  and  itself,  when  it  dissatisfies  us  with 
any  end  ;  when  it  becomes  a  story  without  an  end  ;  when  it 
suggests  gleams  and  visions,  ind  not  earthly  satisfactions! 
when  it  seems 

"  too  bright  and  good, 
For  human  nature's  daily  food  ;  " 

when  it  makes  the  beholder  feel  his  unworthiness ;  when  he 
cannot  feel  his  right  to  it,  though  he  were  Csesar;  he  cannot 


LOVE  H 

feel  more  right  to  it,  than  to  the  firmament  and  the  splendow 
of  a  sunset. 

Hence  arose  the  saying,  "  If  I  love  you,  what  is  that  tc 
you?"  We  say  so,  because  we  feel  that  we  love,  is  not  in 
your  will,  but  above  it.  It  is  the  radiance  of  you  and  not 
you.  It  is  that  which  you  know  not  in  yourself,  and  can 
never  know. 

This  agrees  well  with  that  high  philosophy  of  Beauty  which 
the  ancient  writers  delighted  in ;  for  they  said,  that  the  soul 
of  man,  embodied  here  on  earth,  went  roaming  up  and  down 
in  quest  of  that  other  world  of  its  own,  out  of  which  it  came 
into  this,  but  was  soon  stupefied  by  the  light  of  the  natural 
sun,  and  unable  to  see  any  other  objects  than  those  of  this 
world,  which  are  but  shadows  of  real  things.  Therefore,  the 
Deity  sends  the  glory  of  youth  before  the  soul,  that  it  may 
avail  itself  of  beautiful  bodies  as  aids  to  its  recollection  of  the 
celestial  good  and  fair  ;  and  the  man  beholding  such  a  person 
in  the  female  sex,  runs  to  her,  and  finds  the  highest  joy  in 
contemplating  the  form,  movement,  and  intelligence  of  this 
person,  because  it  suggests  to  him  the  presence  of  that  which 
indeed  is  within  the  beauty,  and  the  cause  of  the  beauty. 

If,  however,  from  too  much  conversing  with  material  objects, 
the  soul  was  gross,  and  misplaced  its  satisfaction  in  the  body, 
it  reaped  nothing  but  sorrow ;  body  being  unable  to  fulfil  the 
promise  which  beauty  holds  out ;  but  if,  accepting  the  hint  of 
these  visions  and  suggestions  which  beauty  makes  to  his 
mind,  the  soul  passes  through  the  body,  and  falls  to  admire 
strokes  of  character,  and  the  lovers  contemplate  one  another 
in  ^eir  discourses  and  their  actions,  then,  they  pass  to  the 
true  palace  of  Beauty,  more  and  more  inflame  their  love  of  it, 
and  by  this  love  extinguishing  the  base  affection,  as  the  sun 
puts  out  the  fire  by  shining  on  the  hearth,  they  become  pure 
nd  hallowed.  By  conversation  with  that  which  is  in  itself 
excellent,  magnanimous,  lowly  and  just,  the  lover  comes  to  a 
Warmer  love  of  these  nobilities,  and  a  quicker  apprehension  of 
them.  Then,  he  passes  from  loving  them  in  one,  to  loving 
them  in  all,  and  so  is  the  one  beautiful  soul  only  the  door 
through  which  he  enters  to  the  society  of  all  true  and  pure 
souls.  In  the  particular  society  of  his  mate,  he  attains  a 
clearer  sight  of  any  spot,  any  taint,  which  her  beauty  1 
tracted  from  this  world,  and  is  able  to  point  it  out,  and  this 
with  mutual  joy  that  they  are  now  able  without  oH'cncv  to  in- 
dicate blemishes  and  hindrances  in  each  other  and  give  to 
each  all  help  and  comfort  in  curing  the  same.  And.  beholding 
to  many  souls  the  traits  of  the  divine  b**uty,  and  seDaxating 


98  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

in  each  soul  that  which  is  divine  from  the  taint  which  they 
have  contracted  in  the  world,  the  lover  ascends  ever  to  the 
highest  beauty,  to  the  love  and  knowledge  of  the  Divinity,  by 
steps  on  this  ladder  of  created  souls. 

Somewhat  like  this  have  the  truly  wise  told  us  of  love  in  all 
ages.  The  doctrine  is  not  old,  nor  is  it  new.  If  Plato,  Plutarch 
and  Apuleius  taught  it,  so  have  Petrarch,  Angelo,  and  Milton. 
It  awaits  a  truer  unfolding  in  opposition  and  rebuke  to  that 
subterranean  prudence  which  presides  at  marriages  with  words 
that  take  hold  of  the  upper  world,  whilst  one  eye  is  eternally 
boring  down  into  the  cellar,  so  that  its  gravest  discourse  has 
ever  a  slight  savor  of  hams  and  powdering-tubs.  Worst,  when 
ihe  snout  of  this  sensualism  intrudes  into  the  education  of 
young  women,  and  withers  the  hope  and  affection  of  human 
nature,  by  teaching,  that  marriage  signifies  nothing  but  a 
housewife's  thrift,  and  that  woman's  life  has  no  other  aim. 

But  this  dream  of  love,  though  beautiful,  is  only  one  scene 
in  our  play.  In  the  procession  of  the  soul  from  within  out- 
ward, it  enlarges  its  circles  ever,  like  the  pebble  thrown  into 
the  pond,  or  the  light  proceeding  from  an  orb.  The  rays  of 
the  soul  alight  first  on  things  nearest,  on  every  utensil  and 
toy,  on  nurses  and  domestics,  on  the  house  and  yard  and  pas- 
sengers, on  the  circle  of  household  acquaintance,  on  politics, 
and  geography,  and  history.  But  by  the  necessity  of  our 
constitution,  things  are  ever  grouping  themselves  according 
to  higher  or  more  interior  laws.  Neighborhood,  size,  numbers, 
habits,  persons,  lose  by  degrees  their  power  over  us.  Cause 
and  effect,  real  affinities,  the  longing  for  harmony  between  the 
soul  and  the  circumstance,  the  high  progressive  idealizing  in- 
stinct, these  predominate  later,  and  ever  the  step  backward 
from  the  higher  to  the  lower  relations  is  impossible.  Thus 
even  love,  which  is  the  deification  of  persons,  must  become 
more  impersonal  every  day.  Of  this  at  first  it  gives  no  hint. 
Little  think  the  youth  and  maiden  who  are  glancing  at  each 
other  across  crowded  rooms,  with  63^68  so  full  of  mutual  in- 
telligence, — of  the  precious  fruit  long  hereafter  to  proceed 
from  this  new,  quite  external  stimulus.  The  work  of  vegeta- 
tion begins  first  in  the  irritability  of  the  bark  and  leaf-buds. 
From  exchanging  glances,  they  advance  to  acts  of  courtesy, 
of  gallantry,  then  to  fiery  passion,  to  plighting  troth  and  mar- 
riage.  Passion  beholds  its  object  as  a  perfect  unit.  The  soul 
to  wholly  embodied,  and  the  body  is  wholly  ensouled. 

"  Her  pure  and  eloquent  blood 
Spoke  in  her  cheeks,  and  so  distinctly  wrought, 
That  one  might  almost  say  her  body  thought-" 


XOFfc  99 

Borneo,  if  dead,  should  be  cut  up  into  little  stars  to  make  the 
heavens  fine.  lafe,  with  this  pair,  has  no  other  aim,  asks  no 
more  than  J  ::!:*&, — than  Romeo.  Night,  day,  studies,  talents, 
kingdoms,  religion,  are  all  contained  in  this  form  full  of  soul, 
in  this  soul  which  is  all  form.  The  lovers  delight  in  endear* 
ments,  in  avowels  of  love,  in  comparisons  of  their  regards. 
When  alone,  they  solace  themselves  with  the  remembered 
image  of  the  other.  Does  that  other  see  the  same  star ;  the 
3?  me  melting  cloud,  read  the  same  book,  feel  the  same  emotion 
that  now  delight  me  ?  They  try  and  weigh  their  affection, 
and  adding  up  all  costly  advantages,  friends,  opportunities, 
properties,  exult  in  discovering  that  willingly,  joyfully,  they 
would  give  all  as  a  ransom  for  the  beautiful,  the  beloved  head, 
not  one  hair  of  which  shall  be  harmed.  But  the  lot  of  human* 
ity  is  on  these  children.  Danger,  sorrow,  and  pain  arrive  to 
them,  as  to  all.  Love  prays.  It  makes  covenants  with 
Eternal  Power,  in  behalf  of  this  dear  mate.  The  union  which 
is  thus  effected,  and  which  adds  a  new  value  to  every  atom  in 
nature,  for  it  transmutes  every  thread  throughout  the  whole 
web  of  relation  into  a  golden  ray,  and  bathes  the  soul  in  a  new 
and  sweeter  element,  is  yet  a  temporary  state.  Not  always 
can  flowers,  pearls,  poetry,  protestations,  nor  even  home  in 
another  heart,  content  the  awful  soul  that  dwells  in  clay.  It 
arouses  itself  at  last  from  these  endearments,  as  toys,  and  puts 
on  the  harness,  and  aspires  to  vast  and  universal  aims.  The 
soul  which  is  in  the  soul  of  each,  craving  for  a  perfect  beati- 
tude, detects  incongruities,  defects,  and  disproportion  in  the 
behavior  of  the  other.  Hence  arises  surprise,  expostulation, 
and  pain.  Yet  that  which  drew  them  to  each  other  was  signs 
of  loveliness,  signs  of  virtue :  and  these  virtues  are  there,  how- 
ever eclipsed.  They  appear  and  reappear,  and  continue  to 
attract ;  but  the  regard  changes,  quits  the  sign,  and  attaches 
to  the  substance.  This  repairs  the  wounded  affection.  Mean- 
time, as  life  wears  on,  it  proves  a  game  of  permutation  and 
combination  of  all  possible  positions  of  the  parties,  to  extort 
all  the  resources  of  each,  and  acquaint  each  with  the  whole 
strength  and  weakness  of  the  other.  For,  it  is  the  nature  and 
end  ol  this  relation,  that  they  should  represent  the  human  race 
to  each  other.  All  that  is  in  the  world  which  is  or  ought  to 
be  known,  is  cunningly  wrought  into  the  texture  of  man,  of 
woman. 

"  The  person  love  does  to  us  fit, 

Like  manna,  has  the  taste  of  all  in  it." 

The  world  rolls  :  the  circumstances  vary,  every  hour.     All 
the  angels  that  inhabit  this  temple  of  the  body  appear  at  the 


jfe  WESSON'S  ESSAYS. 

windows  and  all  the  gnomes  and  vices  also.  By  all  the  vtf 
tues,  they  are  united.  If  there  be  virtue,  all  the  vices  are 
known  as  such ;  they  confess  and  flee.  Their  once  flaming  re- 
gard iK  sobered  by  time  in  either  breast,  and  losing  in  violence 
what  it  gains  in  extent,  it  becomes  a  thorough  good  under 
standing.  They  resign  each  other,  without  complaint,  to  the 
good  ottices  which  man  and  woman  are  severally  appointed  to 
discharge  in  time,  and  exchange  the  passion  which  once  could 
not  lose  sight  of  its  object,  for  a  cheerful,  disengaged  further- 
ance,  whether  present  or  absent,  of  each  other's  designs.  At 
last  they  discover  that  all  which  at  first  drew  them  together, 
—those  once  sacred  features,  that  magical  play  of  charms, — 
was  deciduous,  had  a  prospective  end,  like  the  scaffolding  by 
which  the  house  was  built ;  and  the  purification  of  the  intellect 
and  the  heart,  from  year  to  year,  is  the  real  marriage,  foreseen 
and  prepared  from  the  first,  and  wholly  above  their  conscious- 
ness.  Looking  at  these  aims  with  which  two  persons,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  so  variously  and  oorrelatively  gifted,  are  shut 
np  in  one  house  to  spend  in  the  nuptial  society  forty  or  fifty 
years,  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  emphasis  with  which  the  heart 
prophesies  this  crisis  from  early  infancy,  at  the  profuse  beauty 
with  which  the  instincts  deck  the  nuptial  bower,  and  nature 
and  intellect  and  art  emulate  each  other  in  the  gifts  and  the 
melody  they  bring  to  the  epithalamium. 

Thus  are  we  put  in  training  for  a  love  which  knows  not 
•ex,  nor  person,  nor  partiality,  but  which  seeketh  virtue  and 
wisdom  every  where,  to  the  end  of  increasing  virtue  and  wis- 
dom. We  are  by  nature  observers,  and  thereby  learners. 
That  is  our  permanent  state.  But  we  are  often  made  to  feel 
that  our  affections  are  but  tents  of  a  night.  Though  slowly 
and  with  pain,  the  objects  of  the  affections  change,  as  the  ob- 
jects of  thought  do.  There  are  moments  when  the  affections 
rule  and  absorb  the  man,  and  make  his  happiness  dependent 
on  a  person  or  persons.  But  in  health  the  mind  is  presently 
seen  again^—its  overarching  vault,  bright  with  galaxies  of 
immutable  lights,  and  the  warm  loves  and  fears  that  swept 
over  ns  as  clouds,  must  lose  their  finite  character,  and  blend 
with  God,  to  attain  their  own  perfection.  But  we  need  not 
fear  that  we  can  lose  any  thing  by  the  progress  of  the  souL 
The  soul  may  be  trusted  to  the  end.  That  which  is  so  beautt 
ful  and  attractive  as  these  relations^  must  be  succeeded  and 
supplanted  only  by  what  u  more  hmntitul  and  so  OD  fof 
ever 


iRIBNDSHIP. 

CM 


iSSSAY  VL 
FRIENDSHIP, 


VfB  have  a  great  deal  more  kindness  than  is  ever  spoken 
Maugre  all  the  selfishness  that  chills  like  east  winds  the 
world,  the  whole  human  family  is  bathed  with  an  element  of 
love  like  a  fine  ether.  How  many  persons  we  meet  in  houses, 
whom  we  scarcely  speak  to,  whom  yet  we  honor,  and  who 
honor  us !  How  many  we  see  in  the  street,  or  sit  with  in 
church,  whom,  though  silently,  we  warmly  rejoice  to  be  with  1 
Read  the  language  of  these  wandering  eye-beams.  The  heart 
knoweth. 

The  effect  of  the  indulgence  of  this  human  affection  is  a 
certain  cordial  exhilaration.  In  poetry,  and  in  common 
speech,  the  emotions  of  benevolence  and  complacency  which 
are  felt  towards  others,  are  likened  to  the  material  effects  of 
fire ;  so  swift,  or  much  more  swift,  more  active,  more  cheer- 
ing  are  these  fine  inward  irradiations.  From  the  highest  de- 
gree of  passionate  love,  to  the  lowest  degree  of  good  will,  they 
make  the  sweetness  of  life. 

Our  intellectual  and  active  powers  increase  with  our  affec- 
tion. The  scholar  sits  down  to  write,  and  all  his  years  of 
meditation  do  not  furnish  him  with  one  good  thought  or 
happy  expression ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  write  a  letter  to  a 
friend, — and,  forthwith,  troops  of  gentle  thoughts  invest 
themselves,  on  every  hand,  with  chosen  words.  See  in  any 
house  where  virtue  and  self-respect  abide,  the  palpitation 
which  the  approach  of  a  stranger  causes.  A  commended 
stranger  is  expected  and  announced,  and  an  uneasiness  be- 
twixt pleasure  and  pain  invades  all  the  hearts  of  a  household. 
His  arrival  almost  brings  fear  to  the  good  hearts  that  would 
welcome  him.  The  house  is  dusted,  all  things  fly  into  their 
places,  the  old  coat  is  exchanged  for  the  new,  and  they  must 
get  up  a  dinner  if  they  can.  Of  a  commended  stranger,  only 
thr;  good  report  is  told  by  others,  only  the  good  and  new  is 
I  eard  by  us.  He  stands  to  us  for  humanity.  He  is,  what 
we  wish.  Having  imagined  and  invested  him,  we  ask  how  we 
should  stand  related  in  conversation  and  action  with  such  a 


104 


ESSAYS. 


man,  and  are  uneasy  with  fear.  The  same  idea  exalts  convex 
sation  with  him.  We  talk  better  than  we  are  wont.  We 
have  the  nimblest  fancy,  a  richer  memory,  and  our  dumb  devil 
has  taken  leave  for  the  time.  For  long  hours  we  can  continue 
a  series  of  sincere,  graceful,  rich  communications,  drawn  from 
the  oldest,  secretest  experience,  so  that  they  who  sit  by,  of 
our  own  kinsfolk  and  acquaintance,  shall  feel  a  lively  surprise 
at  our  unusual  powers.  But  as  soon  as  the  stranger  begins 
tc  intrude  his  partialities,  his  definitions,  his  defects,  into  the 
conversation,  it  is  all  over.  He  has  heard  the  first,  the  last 
and  best,  he  will  ever  hear  from  us.  He  is  no  stranger  now. 
Vulgarity,  ignorance,  misapprehension,  are  old  acquaintances. 
Now,  when  he  comes,  he  may  get  the  order,  the  dress,  and  the 
dinner,  —  but  the  throbbing  of  the  heart,  and  the  communica' 
tions  of  the  soul,  no  more. 

Pleasant  are  these  jets  of  affection  which  relume  a  young 
world  for  me  again.  Delicious  is  a  just  and  firm  encounter 
of  two,  in  a  thought,  in  a  feeling.  How  beautiful,  on  their 
approach  to  this  beating  heart,  the  steps  and  forms  of  the 
gifted  and  the  true  !  The  moment  we  indulge  our  affections, 
the  earth  is  metamorphosed  :  there  is  no  winter,  and  no  night  : 
all  tragedies,  all  ennuis  vanish  ;—  all  duties  even  ;  nothing  fills 
the  proceeding  eternity  but  the  forms  all  radiant  of  beloved 
persons.  Let  the  soul  be  assured  that  somewhere  in  the  uni- 
verse it  should  rejoin  its  friend,  and  it  would  be  content  and 
cheerful  alone  for  a  thousand  years. 

I  awoke  this  morning  with  devout  thanksgiving  for  my 
friends,  the  old  and  the  new.  Shall  I  not  call  God,  the  Beau- 
tiful,  who  d»ily  showeth  himself  so  to  me  in  his  gifts?  I 
chide  society,  I  embrace  solitude,  and  yet  I  am  not  so  un< 
grateful  as  not  to  see  the  wise,  the  lovely,  and  the  noble- 
minded,  as  from  time  to  time  they  pass  my  gate.  Who  hears  ' 
me  who  understands  me,  becomes  mine,  —  a  possession  for  all 
time.  Nor  is  nature  so  poor,  but  she  gives  me  this  joy  sev« 
?ral  times,  and  thus  we  weave  social  threads  of  our  own,  a 
new  web  of  relations  ;  and,  as  many  thoughts  in  succession 
mbstantiate  themselves,  we  shall  by-and-by  stand  in  a  new- 
world  of  our  own  creation,  and  no  longer  strangers  and  pil- 
grims  in  a  traditionary  globe.  My  friends  have  come  to  me 
unsought.  The  great  God  gave  them  to  me.  By  oldest 
nght,  by  the  divine  affinity  of  virtue  with  itself,  I  find  them. 
•r  rather,  not  I,  but  the  Deity  in  me  and  in  them,  both  deride 

I  cancel  the  thick  walls  of  individual  character,  relation, 
age,  sex  and  circumstance,  at  which  he  usually  connives,  and 
now  makes  many  on*.  High  thanks  I  owe  you.  excellent 


FRIENDSHIP.  45 

lovers,  who  carry  out  the  world  for  me  to  new  and  noble 

depths,  and  enlarge  the  meaning  of  all  my  thoughts.  These 
are  not  stark  and  stiffened  persons,  but  the  new-born  poetry 
of  God,— poetry  without  stop,— hymn,  ode,  and  epic,  poetry 
still  flowing,  and  not  yet  caked  in  dead  books  with  annotation 
and  grammar,  but  Apollo  and  the  Muses  chanting  still.  Will 
these  too  separate  themselves  from  me  again,  or  some  of 
;,hem  ?  I  know  not,  but  I  fear  it  not ;  for  my  relation  to  them 
:s  so  pure,  that  we  hold  by  simple  affinity,  and  the  Genius  of 
iny  life  being  thus  social,  the  same  affinity  will  exert  its  en- 
3rgy  on  whomsoever  is  as  noble  as  these  men  and  women, 
wherever  I  may  be. 

I  confess  to  an  extreme  tenderness  of  nature  on  this  point. 
It  is  almost  dangerous  to  me  to  "  crush  the  sweet  poison  of 
misused  wine1'  of  the  affections.  A  new  person  is  to  me 
always  a  great  event,  and  hinders  me  from  sleep.  I  have  had 
such  fine  fancies  lately  about  two  or  three  persons,  as  have 
given  me  delicious  hours;  but  the  joy  ends  in  the  day:  it 
yields  no  fruit.  Thought  is  not  born  of  it ;  my  action  is  very 
little  modified.  I  must  feel  pride  in  my  friend's  accomplish- 
ments as  if  they  were  mine, — wild,  delicate,  throbbing  property 
in  his  virtues.  I  feel  as  warmly  when  he  is  praised,  as  the 
lover  when  he  hears  applause  of  his  engaged  maiden.  We 
overestimate  the  conscience  of  our  friend.  His  goodness  seems 
better  fchan  our  goodness,  his  nature  finer,  his  temptations  lest*. 
Every  thing  that  is  his,  his  name,  his  form,  his  dress,  books, 
and  instruments,  fancy  enhances.  Our  '  r.fn  thought  sounds 
new  and  larger  from  his  mouth. 

Yet  the  systole  and  diastole  of  the  heart  jre  not  without 
their  analogy  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  love.  Friendship,  like  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  is  too  good  to  be  believed.  The  'over, 
beholding  his  maiden,  half  knows  that  she  is  not  verily  that 
which  he  worships ;  and  in  the  golden  hour  of  friendship,  we 
ire  surprised  with  shades  of  suspicion  and  unbelief.  We  doubt 
that  we  bestow  on  our  hero  the  virtues  in  which  he  shines,  and 
afterwards  worship  the  form  to  which  we  have  ascribed  this 
divine  inhabitation.  In  strictness,  the  soul  does  not  respect 
men  as  it  respects  itself.  In  strict  science,  all  persons  underlie 
the  same  condition  of  an  infinite  remoteness.  Shall  we  fear  to 
sool  our  love  by  facing  the  fact,  by  mining  for  themetapi'ys- 
ical  foundation  of  this  Elysian  temple  ?  Shall  I  not  be  as  real 
as  the  things  I  see?  If  I  am,  I  shall  not  fear  to  know  them 
for  what  they  are.  Their  essence  is  not  less  beautiful  than 
their  appearance,  though  it  needs  finer  organs  for  its  appre- 
hension. The  root  of  the  plant  is  not  unsightly  to  science. 


though  for  chaplets  and  festoons  we  cut  the  stem  short  And 
I  must  hazard  the  production  of  the  bald  fact  amidst  these 
pleasing  reveries,  though  it  should  prove  an  Egyptian  skull  at 
our  banquet.  A  man  who  stands  united  with  his  thought, 
conceives  magnificently  of  himself.  He  is  conscious  of  a  unt 
versal  success,  even  though  bought  by  uniform  particular 
failures.  No  advantages,  no  powers,  no  gold  or  force  can  be 
any  match  for  him.  I  cannot  choose  but  rely  on  my  own  pov- 
erty, more  than  on  your  wealth.  I  cannot  make  your  con? 
sciousness  tantamount  to  mine.  Only  the  star  dazzles ;  the 
planet  has  a  faint,  moonlike  ray.  I  hear  what  you  say  of  the 
admirable  parts  and  tried  temper  of  the  party  you  praise,  but 
I  see  well  that  for  all  his  purple  cloaks  I  shall  not  like  him, 
unless  he  is  at  last  a  poor  Greek  like  me.  I  cannot  deny  itv 
0  friend,  that  the  vast  shadow  of  the  Phenomenal  includes 
thee,  also,  in  its  pied  and  painted  immensity, — thee,  also,  com- 
pared with  whom  all  else  is  shadow.  Thou  art  not  Being, 
as  Truth  is,  as  Justice  is, — thou  art  not  my  soul,  but  a  picture 
and  effigy  o,  that.  Thou  has  come  to  me  lately,  and  already 
thou  art  seizing  thy  hat  and  cloak.  Is  it  not  that  the  soul 
puts  forth  friends,  as  the  tree  puts  forth  leaves,  and  presently, 
by  the  germination  of  new  buds,  extrudes  the  old  leaf?  The 
\aw  of  nature  is  alternation  forevermore.  Each  electrical  state 
3uperinduces  the  opposite.  The  soul  environs  itself  with 
friends,  that  it  may  enter  into  a  grander  self-acquaintance  or 
solitude  ;  and  it  goes  alone,  for  a  season,  that  it  may  exalt  its 
conversation  or  society.  This  method  betrays  itself  along  the 
whole  history  of  our  personal  relations.  Ever  the  instinct  of 
affection  revives  the  hope  of  union  with  our  mates,  and  ever 
the  returning  sense  of  insulation  recalls  us  from  the  chase.  Thusi 
every  man  passes  his  life  in  the  search  after  friendship,  and  if 
he  should  record  his  true  sentiment,  he  might  write  a  lettef 
like  this,  to  each  new  candidate  for  his  love. 

DEAR  FRIEND, 

If  I  was  sure  of  thee,  sure  of  thy  capacity, 
sure  to  match  my  mood  with  thine,  I  should  never  think  again 
of  trifles,  in  relation  to  thy  comings  and  goings.  I  am  not 
very  wise  :  my  moods  are  quite  attainable :  and  I  respect  thy 
genius :  it  is  to  me  as  yet  uafathomed ;  yet  dare  I  not  pre- 
sume in  thee  a  perfect  intelligence  of  me,  and  so  thou  art  to  me 
a  delicious  torment.  Thine  ever,  or  never. 

Yet  these  uneasy  pleasures  and  fine  pains  are  for  curiosity, 
«nd  not  for  life.    They  are  not  to  be  indulged     This  is  to 


FRIENDSHIP.  Xff 

Weave  cobweb,  and  not  cloth.  Our  friendships  hurry  to  short 
and  poor  conclusions,  because  we  have  made  them  a  texture  of 
wine  and  dreams,  instead  of  the  tough  fibre  of  the  human 
heart.  The  laws  of  friendship  are  great,  austere,  and  eternal, 
of  one  web  with  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  morals.  But  we 
have  aimed  at  a  swift  and  petty  benefit,  to  suck  a  sudden 
sweetness.  We  snatch  at  the  slowest  fruit  in  the  whole  gar- 
den  of  God,  which  many  summers  and  many  winters  must 
ripen.  We  seek  our  friend  not  sacredly,  but  with  an  adulter 
ate  passion  which  would  appropriate  him  to  ourselves.  In 
vain.  We  are  armed  all  over  with  subtle  antagonisms,  which, 
as  soon  as  we  meet,  begin  to  play,  and  translate  all  poetry  into 
stale  prose.  Almost  all  people  descend  to  meet.  All  associa- 
tion must  be  a  compromise,  and,  what  is  worst,  the  very  flower 
and  aroma  of  the  flower  of  each  of  the  beautiful  natures  dis- 
appears as  they  approach  each  other.  What  a  perpetual  dis- 
appointment is  actual  society,  even  of  the  virtuous  and  gifted  I 
After  interviews  have  been  compassed  with  long  foresight,  we 
must  be  tormented  presently  by  baffled  blows,  by  sudden,  un- 
seasonable apathies,  by  epilepsies  of  wit  and  of  animal  spirits, 
in  the  heyday  of  friendship  and  thought.  Our  faculties  do 
not  play  us  true,  and  both  parties  are  relieved  by  solitude. 

I  ought  to  be  equal  to  every  relation.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence how  many  friends  I  have,  and  what  content  I  can  find  in 
conversing  with  each,  if  there  be  one  to  whom  I  am  not  equal. 
If  I  have  shrunk  unequal  from  one  contest,  instantly  the  joy 
I  find  in  all  the  rest  becomes  mean  and  cowardly.  I  should 
hate  myself,  if  then  I  made  my  other  friends  my  asylum. 

"The  valiant  warrior  famoused  for  fight 
After  a  hundred  victories,  once  foiled, 
Is  from  the  book  of  honor  razed  quite, 

And  all  the  rest  forget  for  which  he  toiled.*1 

Our  impatience  is  thus  sharply  rebuked.  Bashfulness  and 
fpathy  are  a  tough  husk  in  which  a  delicate  organization  is 
protected  from  premature  ripening.  It  would  be  lost  if  it 
knew  itself  before  any  of  the  best  souls  were  yet  ripe  enough 
to  know  and  own  it.  Respect  the  naturlangsamkeit  which 
hardens  the  ruby  in  a  million  years,  and  works  in  duration,  in 
which  Alps  and  Andes  come  and  go  as  rainbows.  The  good 
spirit  of  our  life  has  no  heaven  which  is  the  price  of  rashnesa 
Love,  which  is  the  essence  of  God,  is  not  for  levity,  but  for  the 
total  worth  of  man.  Let  us  not  have  this  childish  luxury  in 
»nr  re*wte«  but  the  awtereafr  w*h  '-et  us  ?pproecbouf 


Kg  EMEXSON'S  ESSAT& 

friend  with  an  audacious  trust  in  the  truth  of  nis  heart,  in  the 
breadth,  impossible  to  be  overturned,  of  his  foundations. 

The  attractions  of  this  subject  are  not  to  be  resisted,  and  I 
leave,  for  the  time,  all  account  of  subordinate  social  benefit,  to 
speak  of  that  select  and  sacred  relation  which  is  a  kind  of  ab- 
solute, and  which  even  leaves  the  language  of  love  suspicious 
and  common,  so  much  is  this  purer,  and  nothing  is  so  much 
divine. 

I  do  not  wish  to  treat  friendships  uaintily,  but  with  roughest 
courage.  Whe»  they  are  real,  they  are  not  glass  threads  or 
frost-work,  but  the  solidest  thing  we  know.  For  now,  after  so 
many  ages  of  experience,  what  do  we  know  of  nature  or  of 
ourselves  ?  Not  one  step  has  man  taken  towards  the  solution 
of  the  problem  of  his  destiny.  In  one  condemnation  of  folly 
stand  the  whole  universe  of  men.  But  the  sweet  sincerity  of 
Joy  and  peace,  which  I  draw  from  this  alliance  with  my  broth, 
er's  soul,  is  the  nut  itself  whereof  all  nature  and  all  thought  is 
but  the  husk  and  shell.  Happy  is  the  house  that  shelters  a 
friend  1  It  might  well  be  built,  like  a  festal  bower  or  arch,  to 
entertain  him  a  single  day.  Happier,  if  he  know  the  solemnity 
of  that  relation,  and  honor  its  law  1  It  is  no  idle  band,  no 
holiday  engagement.  He  who  offers  himself  a  candidate  for 
that  covenant,  comes  up,  like  an  Olympian,  to  the  great 
games,  where  the  firstborn  of  the  world  are  the  competitors. 
He  proposes  himself  for  contests  where  Time,  Want,  Dan« 
ger  are  in  the  lists,  and  he  alone  is  victor  who  has  truth 
enough  in  his  constitution  to  preserve  the  delicacy  of  his 
beauty  from  the  wear  and  tear  of  all  these.  The  gifts  of  for- 
tune  may  be  present  or  absent,  but  all  the  hap  in  that  contest 
depends  on  intrinsic  nobleness,  and  the  contempt  of  trifles. 
There  are  two  elements  that  go  to  the  composition  of  friend- 
ship,  each  so  sovereign,  that  I  can  detect  no  superiority  in 
either,  no  reason  why  either  should  be  first  named.  One  is 
Truth.  A  friend  is  a  person  with  whom  I  may  be  sincere. 
Before  him,  I  may  think  aloud.  I  am  arrived  at  last  in  the 
presence  of  a  man  so  real  and  equal,  that  I  may  drop  even 
those  undermost  garments  of  dissimulation,  courtesy,  and  sec- 
ond thought,  which  men  never  put  off,  and  may  deal  with  him 
with  the  simplicity  and  wholeness,  with  which  one  chemical 
atom  meets  another.  Sincerity  is  the  luxury  allowed,  like 
diadems  and  authority,  only  to  the  highest  rank,  that  being 
permitted  to  speak  truth,  as  having  none  above  it  to  court 
or  conform  unto.  Every  man  alone  is  sincere.  At  the  en- 
trance of  a  second  person,  hypocrisy  begins.  We  parry  and 
fend  the  approach  of  our  fellow  man  by  compliments,  by  go* 


FRIENDSHIP.  100 

glp,  by  amusements,  by  affairs.  We  cover  up  our  thought 
from  him  under  a  hundred  folds.  I  knew  a  man  who,  under  a 
certain  religious  frenzy,  cast  off  this  drapery,  and  omitting  all 
compliment  and  commonplace,  spoke  to  the  conscience  of  every 
person  he  encountered,  and  that  with  great  insight  and  beauty. 
At  first  he  was  resisted,  and  all  men  agreed  he  was  mad.  But 
persisting,  as  indeed  he  could  not  help  doing,  for  some  time  in 
this  course,  he  attained  to  the  advantage  of  bringing  every 
nan  oi  his  acquaintance  into  true  relations  with  him.  No 
uian  would  think  of  speaking  falsely  with  him,  or  of  putting 
him  off  with  any  chat  of  markets  or  reading  rooms.  But 
every  man  was  constrained  by  so  much  sincerity  to  face  him, 
stnd  what  love  of  nature,  what  poetry,  what  symbol  of  truth 
he  had,  he  did  certainly  show  him.  But  to  most  of  us  society 
shows  not  its  face  and  eye,  but  its  side  and  its  back.  To  stand 
in  true  relations  with  men  in  a  false  age,  is  worth  a  fit  of  in- 
sanity, is  it  not  ?  We  can  seldom  go  erect.  Almost  every 
man  we  meet  requires  some  civility,  requires  to  be  humored ; 
-—he  has  some  fame,  some  talent,  some  whim  of  religion  or 
philanthropy  in  his  head  that  is  not  to  be  questioned,  and  sc 
spoils  all  conversation  with  him.  But  a  friend  is  a  sane  mac 
who  exercises  not  my  ingenuity  but  me.  My  friend  gives  me 
entertainment  without  requiring  me  to  stoop,  or  to  lisp,  or  to 
mask  myself.  A  friend,  therefore,  is  a  sort  of  paradox  in  na« 
ture.  I  who  alone  am,  I  who  see  nothing  in  nature  whose  ex- 
istence 1  can  affirm  with  equal  evidence  to  my  own,  behold  now 
the  semblance  of  my  being  in  all  its  height,  variety  and 
curiosity,  reiterated  in  a  foreign  form  ;  so  that  a  friend  may 
well  be  reckoned  the  masterpiece  of  nature. 

The  other  element  of  friendship  is  Tenderness.  We  are 
holden  to  men  by  every  sort  of  tie,  by  blood,  by  pride,  by  fear, 
by  hope,  by  lucre,  by  lust,  by  hate,  by  admiration,  by  every  cir» 
3urnstance  and  badge  and  trifle,  but  we  can  scarce  believe  that 
10  much  character  can  subsist  in  another  as  to  draw  us  by  love. 
Oan  another  be  so  blessed,  and  we  so  pure,  that  we  can  offer 
aim  tenderness  ?  When  a  man  becomes  dear  to  me,  I  have 
touched  the  goal  of  fortune.  I  find  very  little  written  directly 
to  the  heart  of  this  matter  in  books.  And  yet  I  have  one  text 
which  I  cannot  choose  but  remember.  My  author  says,  "  I 
offer  myself  faintly  and  bluntly  to  those  whose  I  effectually 
am,  and  tender  myself  least  to  him  to  whom  I  am  the  most 
devoted."  I  wish  that  friendship  should  have  feet,  as  well  as 
eyes  and  eloquence.  It  must  plant  itself  on  the  ground,  before 
it  walks  over  the  moon.  I  wish  it  to  be  a  little  of  a  citizen, 
before  &  is  quite  a  cherub.  W*  wwle  the  citizen  beoauM  b* 


L'SSAYb 

makes  love  a  commodity.  It  is  an  exchange  of  gifts,  of  usefoi 
loans ;  it  is  good  neighborhood ;  it  watches  with  the  sick ;  it 
holds  the  pall  at  the  funeral ;  and  quite  loses  sight  of  the  deli- 
cacies  and  nobility  of  the  relation.  But  though  we  cannot 
find  the  god  under  this  disguise  of  a  sutler,  yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  cannot  forgive  the  poet  if  he  spins  his  thread  too 
fine,  and  does  not  substantiate  his  romance  by  the  municipal 
virtues  of  justice,  punctuality,  fidelity  and  pity.  I  hate  the 
prostitution  of  the  name  of  friendship  to  signify  modish  and 
worldly  alliances.  I  much  prefer  the  company  of  plough-boys 
and  tin-pedlars,  to  the  silken  and  perfumed  amity  which  only 
celebrates  its  days  of  encounter  by  a  frivolous  display,  by 
rides  in  a  curricle,  and  dinners  at  the  best  taverns.  The  end 
of  friendship  is  a  commerce  the  most  strict  and  homely  that 
can  be  joined;  more  strict  than  any  of  which  we  have  ex- 
perience. It  is  for  aid  and  comfort  through  all  the  relations 
and  passages  of  life  and  death.  It  is  fit  for  serene  da3's,  and 
graceful  gifts,  and  country  rambles,  but  also  for  rough  roads 
and  hard  fare,  shipwreck,  poverty,  and  persecution.  It  keeps 
company  with  the  sallies  of  the  wit  and  the  trances  of  religion. 
We  are  to  dignify  to  each  other  the  daily  needs  and  offices  of 
man's  life,  and  embellish  it  by  courage,  wisdom  and  unity.  It 
should  never  fall  into  something  usual  and  settled,  but  should 
be  alert  and  inventive,  and  add  rhyme  and  reason  to  what  was 
drudgery. 

For  perfect  friendship  it  may  be  said  to  require  natures  so  rare 
and  costly,  so  well  tempered  each,  and  so  happily  adapted,  and 
withal  so  circumstanced,  (for  even  in  that  particular,  a  poet  says, 
love  demands  that  the  parties  be  altogether  paired,)  that  very 
seldom  can  its  satisfaction  be  realized.  It  cannot  subsist  in  its 
perfection,  say  jome  of  those  who  are  learned  in  this  warm  lore 
of  the  heart,  betwixt  more  than  two.  I  am  not  quite  so  strict 
in  my  terms,  perhaps  because  I  have  never  known  so  high  a  fel- 
lowhip  as  others.  I  please  my  imagination  more  with  a  circle 
of  godlike  men  and  women  variously  related  to  each  other,  and 
between  whom  subsists  a  lofty  intelligence.  But  I  find  this 
kw  of  one  to  one,  peremptory  for  conversation,  whi«h  is  the 
practice  and  consummation  of  friendship.  Do  not  mix  waters 
too  much.  The  best  mix  as  ill  as  good  and  bad.  You  shall 
nave  very  useful  and  cheering  discourse  at  several  times  with 
two  several  men,  but  let  all  three  of  you  come  together,  and 
you  shall  not  have  one  new  and  hearty  word.  Two  may  talk 
and  one  may  hear,  but  three  cannot  take  part  in  a  conversa- 
tion of  the  most  sincere  and  searching  sort.  In  good  company 
were  is  never  such  discourse  between  two-  across  the  table.au 


fRIENDSHIP.  |H 

pakes  place  wiien  yon  leave  them  alone.  In  good  company,  the 
individuals  at  once  merge  their  egotism  into  a  social  soul  exactly 
coextensive  with  the  several  consciousnesses  there  present. 
No  partialities  of  friend  to  friend,  no  fondnesses  of  bother  to 
sister,  of  wife  to  husband,  are  there  pertinent,  but  quite  other- 
wise. Only  he  may  then  speak  who  can  sail  on  the  common 
thought  of  the  party,  and  not  poorly  limited  to  his  own.  Now 
this  convention,  which  good  sense  demands,  destroys  the  high 
freedom  of  great  conversation,  which  requires  an  absolute  run« 
ning  of  two  souls  into  one. 

No  two  men  but  being  left  alone  with  each  other,  enter  into 
simpler  relations.  Yet  it  is  affinity  that  determines  which 
two  shall  converse.  Unrelated  men  give  little  joy  to  each 
other  ;  will  never  suspect  the  latent  powers  of  each.  '  We  talk 
sometimes  of  a  great  talent  for  conversation,  as  if  it  were  a 
permanent  property  in  some  individuals.  Conversation  is  an 
evanescent  relation, — no  more.  A  man  is  reputed  to  have 
thought  and  eloquence  ;  he  cannot,  for  all  that,  say  a  word  to 
his  cousin  or  his  uncle.  They  accuse  his  silence  witli  as  much 
reason  as  they  would  blame  the  insignificance  of  a  dial  in  the 
shade.  In  the  sun  it  will  mark  the  hour.  Among  those  who 
enjoy  his  thought,  he  will  regain  his  tongue. 

Friendship  requires  that  rare  mean  betwixt  likeness  and  un- 
likeness,  that  piques  each  with  the  presence  of  power  and  of 
consent  in  the  other  part}%  Let  me  be  alone  to  the  end  of  the 
world,  rather  than  that  my  friend  should  overstep  by  a  word  or 
a  look  his  real  sympathy.  I  am  equally  baulked  by  antago- 
nism and  by  compliance.  Let  him  not  cease  an  instant  to  be 
himself.  The  only  joy  I  have  in  his  being  mine,  is  that  the 
not  mine  is  mine.  It  turns  the  stomach,  it  blots  the  daylight ; 
where  I  looked  for  a  manly  furtherance,  or  at  least  a  manly 
resistance,  to  find  a  mush  of  concession.  Better  be  a  nettle  in 
the  side  of  your  friend  than  his  echo.  The  condition  which 
high  friendship  demands,  is,  ability  to  do  without  it.  To  be 
Capable  of  that  high  office,  requires  great  and  sublime  parts. 
There  must  be  very  two,  before  there  can  be  very  one.  Let  it 
be  an  alliance  of  two  large  formidable  natures,  mutually  be- 
held, mutually  feared,  before  yet  they  recognize  the  deep 
identity  which  oeneath  these  disparities  unites  them. 

He  only  is  fit  for  this  society  who  is  magnanimous.  He 
must  be  so,  to  know  its  law.  He  must  be  one  who  is  sure 
that  greatness  and  goodness  are  alwaj's  economy.  He  must 
be  one  who  is  not  swift  to  intermeddle  with  his  fortunes.  Let 
him  not  dare  to  intermeddle  with  this.  Leave  to  the  diamond 
its  ages  to  grow,  nor  expect  to  accelerate  the  births  of  the 


HJ  EMERSON'S  ESSAT& 

eten.aL  Friendship  demands  a  religious  treatment.  W», 
must  not  be  wilful,  we  must  not  provide.  We  talk  of  cboos« 
ing  our  friends,  but  friends  are  self-elected.  Reverence  is  a 
great  part  of  it.  Treat  your  friend  as  a  spectacle.  Of  course, 
'f  he  be  a  man,  he  has  merits  that  are  not  yours,  and  that  you 
cannot  honor,  if  you  must  needs  hold  him  close  to  your  person. 
Stand  aside.  Give  those  merits  room.  Let  them  mount  and 
expand.  Be  not  so  much  his  friend  that  you  can  never  know 
his  peculiar  energies,  like  fond  mammas  who  shut  up  their  boy 
in  the  house  until  he  is  almost  grown  a  girl.  Are  you  the 
friend  ot  your  friend's  buttons,  or  of  his  thought  ?  To  a  great 
heart  he  will  still  be  a  stranger  in  a  thousand  particulars,  that 
lie  may  come  near  in  the  holiest  ground.  Leave  it  to  girls  and 
boys  to  regard  a  friend  as  property,  and  to  suck  a  short  and 
all-confounding  pleasure  instead  of  the  pure  nectar  of  God. 

Let  us  buy  our  entrance  to  this  guild  by  a  long  probation. 
Why  should  we  desecrate  noble  and  beautiful  souls  by  intrud- 
ing on  them?  Why  insist  on  rash  personal  relations  with 
your  friend  ?  Why  go  to  his  house,  or  know  his  mother  and 
brother  and  sisters  ?  Why  be  visited  by  him  at  your  own  ? 
Are  these  things  material  to  our  covenant  ?  Leave  this  touch* 
ing  and  clawing.  Let  him  be  to  me  a  spirit.  A  message,  a 
thought,  a  sir  ority,  a  glance  from  him,  I  want,  but  not  news, 
nor  pottage.  I  can  get  politics,  and  chat,  and  neighborly  con- 
veniences, from  cheaper  companions.  Should  not  the  society 
of  my  friend  be  to  me  poetic,  pure,  universal,  and  great  as  na- 
ture itself?  Ought  I  to  feel  that  our  tie  is  profane  in  com- 
parison with  yonder  bar  of  cloud  that  sleeps  on  the  horizon,  or 
that  clump  of  waving  grass  that  divides  the  brook  ?  Let  ur 
not  vilify  but  raise  it  to  that  standard.  That  great  defying 
eye,  that  scornful  beauty  of  his  mien  and  action,  do  not  pique 
Yourself  on  reducing,  but  rather  fortify  and  enhance.  Wor- 
ship his  superiorities.  Wish  him  not  less  by  a  thought,  but 
hoard  and  tell  them  all.  Guard  him  as  thy  great  counterpart  -, 
have  a  princedom  to  thy  friend.  Let  him  be  to  thee  forever  a 
sort  oi  beautiful  enemy,  untamable,  devoutly  revered,  and  not 
a  trivial  conveniency  to  be. soon  outgrown  and  cast  aside. 
The  hues  of  tub  «>al,  the  light  of  the  diamond,  are  not  to  be 
seen,  if  the  eye  is  to  near.  To  my  friend  I  write  a  letter,  an4 
from  him  I  receive  a  letter.  That  seems  to  you  a  little.  MV 
it  suffices.  It  is  a  spiritual  gift  worthy  of  him  to  give  and 
of  me  to  receive.  It  profanes  nobody.  In  these  warm  lines 
the  heart  will  trust  itself,  as  it  will  not  tc  the  tongue,  and 
pour  out  the  prophecy  OA  a  cod  Her  existence  than  all  the  an* 
Qftls  01  heroism  hayc  yet  made 


Respect  sc  ^y  the  holy  laws  of  this  fellow&mp  us  not  to 
prejudice  its  perfect  flower  by  your  impatience  for  its  opening. 
We  must  be  our  own,  before  we  can  be  another's.  There  is  at 
least  this  satisfaction  in  crime,  according  to  the  Latin  proverb; 
you  can  speak  to  your  accomplice  on  even  terms.  Crimen 
quos  inquinat  sequat.  To  those  whom  we  admire  and  love.  n< 
first  we  cannot.  Yet  the  least  defect  of  self-possession  \ "it  . 
vtes,  in  my  judgment,  the  entire  relation.  There  can  neve:  '. , 
ueep  peace  between  two  spirits,  never  mutual  respect  untL 
iliieir  dialogue,  each  stands  for  the  whole  world. 

What  is  so  great  as  friendship,  let  us  carry  wuu  wtiat 
grandeur  of  spirit  we  can.  Let  us  be  silent, — so  we  may  hear 
the  whisper  of  the  gods.  Let  us  not  interfere  Who  set  you 
;o  cast  about  what  you  should  say  to  the  select  souls,  or  to 
say  any  thing  to  such  ?  No  matter  how  ingenious,  no  matter 
Jiow  graceful  and  bland.  There  are  innumerable  degrees  of 
folly  and  wisdom,  and  foi  you  to  say  aught  is  to  be  frivolous. 
Wait,  and  thy  soul  shall  speak.  Wait  until  the  necessary  and 
o  enacting  overpowers  you,  until  day  and  night  avail  them- 
selves of  your  lips.  The'only  money  of  God  is  God.  He  pays 
never  with  any  thing  less  or  any  thing  else.  The  only  reward 
of  virtue,  is  virtue :  the  only  way  to  have  a  friend,  is  to  be 
one.  Vain  to  hope  to  come  nearer  a  man  by  getting  into  his 
house.  If  unlike,  his  soul  only  flees  the  faster  from  you,  and 
you  shall  catch  never  a  true  glance  of  his  eye.  We  see  the 
noble  afar  off,  and  they  repel  us;  why  should  we  intrude? 
Late — very  late — we  perceive  that  no  arrangements,  no  intro* 
ductions,  no  consuetudes,  or  habits  of  society,  would  be  of  any 
avail  to  establish  us  in  such  relations  with  them  as  we  desire, 
— but  solely  the  uprise  of  nature  in  us  to  the  same  degree  it  is 
in  them  :  then  shall  we  meet  as  water  with  water  :  and  if  we 
should  not  meet  them  then,  we  shall  not  want  them,  for  we  are 
already  they.  In  th«  last  analysis,  love  is  only  the  reflection 
of  a  man's  own  worthiness  from  other  men.  Men  have  some- 
times exchanged  names  with  their  friends,  as  if  they  would 
signify  that  in  their  friend  each  loved  his  own  soul. 

The  higher  the  style  we  demand  of  friendship,  of  course  the 
less  easy  to  establish  it  with  flesh  and  blood.  We  walk  alone 
in  the  world.  Friends,  such  as  we  desire  are  dreams  and 
fables.  But  a  sublime  hope  cheers  ever  the  ftJthful  heart,  that 
elsewhere,  in  other  regions  of  the  universal  power,  souls  are 
now  acting,  enduring,  and  daring,  which  ^an  love  us,  and 
which  we  can  love.  We  may  congratulate  ourselves  that  tbft 
period  of  nonage,  of  follies,  of  blunders,  and  01  shame,  is  passe*. 
<a  solitude,  and  when  we  are  finished  men,  we  shall  graip 


rt4  WESSON'S  ESSAYS, 

oeroic  hands  in  heroic  hands.  Only  be  admonished  by  whal 
fou  aheady  see,  not  to  strike  leagues  of  friendship  with  cheap 
persona,  where  no  friendship  can  be.  Our  impatience  betrays 
us  into  rash  and  foolish  alliances  which  no  God  attends.  By 
persisting  hi  your  path,  though  you  forfeit  the  little,  you  gain 
the  great.  You  become  pronounced.  You  demonstrate  your- 
self, so  as  to  put  yourself  out  ot  the  reach  of  false  relations, 
and  you  draw  to  you  the  firstborn  of  the  world, — those  rare 
pilgrims  whereof  only  one  or  two  wander  in  nature  at  once, 
and  before  whom  the  vulgar  great,  show  as  spectres  and  shad- 
ows merely. 

It  is  foolish  to  be  afraid  of  making  our  ties  too  spiritual,  as 
if  so  we  could  lose  any  genuine  love.  Whatever  correction  of 
our  popular  views  we  make  from  insight,  nature  will  be  sure 
to  bear  us  out  in,  and  though  it  seem  to  rob  us  of  some  joy, 
will  repay  us  with  a  greater.  Let  us  feel,  if  we  will,  the  abso- 
lute insulation  of  man.  We  are  sure  that  we  have  all  in  us. 
We  go  to  Europe,  or  we  pursue  persons,  or  we  read  books,  in 
the  instinctive  faith  that  these  will  call  it  out  and  reveal  us  to 
ourselves.  Beggars  all.  The  persons  are  such  as  we ;  the 
Europe,  an  old  faded  garment  of  dead  persons ;  the  books, 
their  ghosts.  Let  us  drop  this  idolatry.  Let  us  give  over 
this  mendicancy.  Let  us  even  bid  our  dearest  friends  farewell, 
and  defy  them,  saying,  *  Who  are  you  ?  Unhand  me :  I  will  be 
dependent  no  more.'  Ah !  seest  thou  not,  O  brother,  that  thus 
we  part  only  to  meet  again  on  a  higher  platform,  and  only  be 
more  each  other's,  because  we  are  more  our  own  ?  A  friend  is 
Janus-faced  :  he  looks  to  the  past  and  the  future.  He  is  the 
child  of  all  my  foregoing  hours,  the  prophet  of  those  to  come. 
He  is  the  harbinger  of  a  greater  friend.  It  is  the  property  of 
the  divine  to  be  reproductive. 

I  do  then  with  my  friends  as  I  do  with  my  books,  I  would 
have  them  where  I  can  find  them,  but  I  seldom  use  them. 
We  must  have  society  on  our  own  terms,  and  admit  or  exclude 
it  on  the  slightest  cause.  I  cannot  afford  to  speak  much  with 
my  friend.  It  he  is  great,  he  makes  me  so  great  that  I  can- 
not descend  to  converse.  In  the  great  days,  presentiments 
hover  before  me, 'far  before  me  in  the  firmament.  I  ought 
then  to  dedicate  myself  to  them.  I  go  in  that  I  may  seize 
them,  I  go  out  that  I  may  seize  ohern.  I  fear  only  that  I  may 
lose  them  receding  into  the  sky  in  which  now  they  are  only  a 
patch  of  brighter  light.  Then,  though  I  prize  my  friends,  I 
cannot  afford  to  talk  with  them  and  study  their  visions,  lest  I 
lose  my  own.  It  would  indeed  give  me  a  certain  household 
tov  to  quit  this  loftly  seeking,  this  spiritual  astronomy,  or 


FRIENDSHIP.  m 

search  of  stars,  and  come  down  to  warm  sympathies  with  yon  2 
but  then  I  know  well  I  shall  mourn  always  the  vanishing  of 
my  mighty  gods.  It  is  true,  next  week  I  shall  have  languid 
times,  when  I  can  well  afford  to  occupy  myself  with  foreign 
objects ;  then  I  shall  regret  the  lost  literature  of  your  mind, 
and  wish  you  were  by  my  side  again.  But  if  you  come,  per. 
haps  you  will  fill  my  mind  only  with  new  visions,  not  with 
yourself  but  with  your  lustres,  and  I  shall  not  be  able  anj 
more  than  now  to  converse  with  you.  So  I  will  owe  to  my 
friends  this  evanescent  intercourse.  I  will  receive  from  them 
not  what  they  have,  but  what  they  are.  They  shall  give  me 
that  which  properly  they  cannot  give  me,  but  which  radiates 
from  them.  But  they  shall  not  hold  me  by  any  relations  less 
subtle  and  pure.  We  will  meet  as  though  we  met  not,  and 
part  as  though  we  parted  not. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  lately  more  possible  than  I  knew,  to 
carry  a  friendship  greatly,  on  one  side,  without  due  corre- 
spondence on  the  other.  Why  should  I  cumber  myself  with 
the  poor  fact  that  the  receiver  is  not  capacious  ?  It  never 
troubles  the  sun  that  some  of  his  rays  fall  wide  and  vain  into 
ungrateful  space,  and  only  a  small  part  on  the  reflecting 
planet.  Let  your  greatness  educate  the  crude  and  cold  com- 
panion. If  he  is  unequal,  he  will  presently  pass  away,  but 
thou  art  enlarged  by  thy  own  shining  ;  and,  no  longer  a  mate 
for  the  frogs  and  worms,  dost  soar  and  burn  with  the  gods  of 
the  empyrean.  It  is  thought  a  disgrace  to  love  unrequited. 
But  the  great  will  see  that  true  love  cannot  be  unrequited. 
True  love  transcends  instantly  the  unworthy  object,  and  dwells 
and  broods  on  the  eternal,  and  when  the  poor,  interposed  mask 
crumbles,  it  is  not  sad,  but  feels  rid  of  so  much  earth,  and 
feels  its  independency  the  surer.  Yet  these  things  may 
hardly  be  said  without  a  sort  of  treachery  to  the  relation. 
The  essence  of  friendship  is  entireness,  a  total  magnanimity 
and  trust.  It  must  not  surmise  or  provide  for  infirmity.  It 
treats  its  object  as  a  god,  that  it  may  deify  both. 


PRUDENCE, 

am 


ESSAY  VH. 

PRUDENCE 


WHAT  right  have  I  to  write  on  Prudence,  whereof  I 
little,  and  that  of  the  negative  sort  ?  My  prudence  consists 
in  avoiding  and  going  without,  not  in  the  inventing  of  means 
and  methods,  not  in  adroit  steering,  not  in  gentle  repairing.  I 
have  no  skill  to  make  money  spend  well,  no  genius  in  my 
economy,  and  whoever  sees  my  garden,  discovers  that  I  must 
have  some  other  garden.  Yet  I  love  facts,  and  hate  lubricity, 
and  people  without  perception.  Then  I  have  the  same  title  to 
write  on  prudence,  that  I  have  to  write  on  poetry  or  holiness. 
We  write  from  aspiration  and  antagonism,  as  well  as  from  ex- 
perience. We  paint  those  qualities  which  we  do  not  possess. 
The  poet  admires  the  man  of  energy  and  tactics ;  the  mer- 
chant breeds  his  son  for  the  church  or  the  bar  :  and  where  a 
man  is  not  vain  and  egotistic,  you  shall  find  what  he  has  not, 
by  his  praise.  Moreover,  it  would  be  hardly  honest  in  me  not 
to  balance  these  fine  lyric  words  of  Love  and  Friendship  with 
words  of  coarser  sound,  and  whilst  my  debt  to  my  senses  is 
real  and  constant,  not  to  own  it  in  passing. 

Prudence  is  the  virtue  of  the  senses.  It  is  the  science  of 
appearances.  It  is  the  outmost  action  of  the  inward  life.  It 
is  God  taking  thought  for  oxen.  It  moves  matter  after  th« 
laws  of  matter.  It  is  content  to  seek  health  of  body  by  com- 
plying  with  physical  conditions,  and  health  of  mind  by  the 
laws  of  the  intellect. 

The  world  of  the  senses  is  a  world  of  shows ;  it  does  not 
exist  for  itself,  but  has  a  symbolic  character ;  and  a  true  pru- 
dence or  law  of  shows,  recognizes  the  co-presence  of  other  laws ; 
and  knows  that  its  own  office  is  subaltern  ;  knows  that  it  is 
surface  and  not  centre  where  it  works.  Prudence  is  false  when 
detached.  It  is  legitimate  when  it  is  the  Natural  History  of 
the  soul  incarnate  ;  when  it  unfolds  the  beauty  of  laws  within 
the  narrow  scope  of  the  senses. 

There  are  all  degrees  of  proficiency  in  knowledre  of  the 
world.  It  is  sufficient,  to  our  present  purpose,  t  >  indicate 
three.  One  class  live  to  the  utility  of  the  symbol ;  esteem 

am 


ESSAYS. 

in*  health  ana  wealth  a  final  good.  Another  class  live  above 
this  mark  to  the  beauty  of  the  symbol ;  as  the  poet,  and  artist, 
«»nd  the  naturalist,  and  man  of  science.  A  third  class  live 
above  the  beauty  of  the  symbol  to  the  beauty  of  the  thing 
signified ;  these  are  wise  men.  The  first  class  have  common 
sense ;  the  second,  taste ;  and  the  third,  spiritual  perception. 
Once  in  a  long  time,  a  man  traverses  the  whole  scale,  and  sees 
and  enjoys  the  symbol  solidly  ;  then  also  has  a  clear  eye  for  its 
beauty,  and,  lastly,  whilst  he  pitches  his  tent  on  this  sacred 
volcanic  isle  of  nature,  does  not  offer  to  build  houses  and  barns 
thereon,  reverencing  the  splendor  of  the  God  which  he  sees 
bursting  through  each  chink  and  cranny. 

The  world  is  filled  with  the  proverbs  and  acts  and  winkings 
of  a  base  prudence,  which  is  a  devotion  to  matter  as  if  we  pos- 
sessed no  other  faculties  than  the  palate,  the  nose,  the  touch, 
the  eye  and  ear ;  a  prudence  which  adores  the  Rule  of  Three, 
which  never  subscribes,  which  gives  never,  which  lends  seldom, 
and  asks  but  one  question  of  any  project — Will  it  bake  bread? 
This  is  a  disease  like  a  thickening  of  the  skin  until  the  vital 
organs  are  destroyed.  But  culture,  revealing  the  high  origin 
of  the  apparent  world,  and  aiming  at  the  perfection  of  the  man 
as  the  end,  degrades  every  thing  else,  as  health  and  bodily  life, 
into  means.  It  sees  prudence  not  to  be  a  several  faculty,  but 
a  name  for  wisdom  and  virtue  conversing  with  the  body  and  its 
wants.  Cultivated  men  always  feel  and  speak  so,  as  if  a  great 
fortune,  the  achievement  of  a  civil  or  social  measure,  great 
personal  influence,  a  graceful  and  commanding  address  had 
their  value  as  proofs  of  the  energy  of  the  spirit.  If  a  man 
lose  his  balance,  and  immerse  himself  in  any  trades  or  pleasures 
for  their  own  sake,  he  may  be  a  good  wheel  or  pin,  but  he  is 
not  a  cultivated  man. 

The  spurious  prudence,  making  the  senses  final,  is  the  god 
of  sots  and  cowards,  and  is  the  subject  of  all  comedy.  It  is 
nature's  joke,  and  therefore  literature's.  The  true  prudence 
limits  this  sensualism  by  admitting  the  knowledge  of  an  inter- 
nal and  real  world.  This  recognition  once  made, — the  order 
of  the  world  and  the  distribution  of  affairs  and  times  being 
studied  with  the  co-perception  of  their  subordinate  place,  will 
reward  any  degree  of  attention.  For,  our  existence  thns  ar> 
parently  attached  in  nature  to  the  sun  and  the  returning  moon 
and  the  periods  which  they  mark ;  so  susceptible  to  climate  and 
to  the  country,  so  alive  to  social  good  and  evil,  so  fond  of 
splendor,  and  so  tender  to  hunger  and  cold  and  debt,— reads 
all  its  primary  lessons  out  of  these  books. 

Prudence  does  not  go  behind  nature,  and  ask,  whence  it  it! 


It  takes  llie  laws  of  the  world  whereby  man's  being  is  con. 
ditioned,  as  they  are,  and  keeps  these  laws,  that  it  may  enjoy 
their  proper  good.  It  respects  space  and  time,  climate,  want 
sleep,  the  law  of  polarity,  growth  and  death.  There  revolve 
to  give  bound  and  period  to  his  being,  on  all  sides,  the  sun  and 
moon,  the  great  formalists  in  the  sky:  here  lies  stubborn 
matter,  and  will  not  swerve  from  its  chemical  routine.  Here 
is  a  planted  glove,  pierced  and  belted  with  natural  laws,  and 
fenced  and  distributed  externally  with  civil  partitions  and 
properties  which  impose  new  restraints  on  the  young  inhabi. 
tant. 

We  eat  of  the  bread  which  grows  in  the  field.  We  live  by 
the  air  which  blows  around  us,  and  we  are  poisoned  by  the  air 
that  is  too  cold  or  too  hot,  too  dry  or  too  wet.  Time,  which 
shows  so  vacant,  indivisible  and  divine  in  its  coming,  is  slit 
and  peddled  into  trifles  and  tatters.  A  door  is  to  be  painted, 
a  lock  to  be  repaired.  I  want  wood,  or  oil,  or  meal,  or  salt;  the 
house  smokes,  or  I  have  a  headache ;  then  the  tax ;  and  an  afiair 
to  be  transacted  with  a  man  without  heart  or  brains  ;  and  the 
stinging  recollection  of  an  injurious  or  very  awkward  word, — 
these  eat  up  the  hours.  Do  what  we  can,  summer  will  have 
its  flies.  If  we  walk  in  the  woods,  we  must  feel  mosquitoes. 
If  we  go  a  fishing,  we  must  expect  a  wet  coat.  Then  climate 
is  a  great  impediment  to  idle  persons.  We  often  resolve  to 
give  up  the  care  of  the  weather,  but  still  we  regard  the  clouds 
and  the  rain. 

We  are  instructed  by  these  petty  experiences  which  usurp 
the  hours  and  years.  The  hard  soil  and  four  months  of  snow 
make  the  inhabitant  of  the  northern  temperate  zone  wiser  and 
abler  than  his  fellow  who  enjoys  the  fixed  smile  of  the  tropics. 
The  islander  may  ramble  all  day  at  will.  At  night,  he  may 
sleep  on  a  mat  under  the  moon,  and  wherever  a  wild  date-tree 
grows,  nature  has,  without  a  prayer  even,  spread  a  table  for 
his  morning  meal.  The  northerner  is  perforce  a  householder. 
He  must  brew,  bake,  salt  and  preserve  his  food.  He  must  pile 
wood  and  coal.  But  as  it  happens  that  not  one  stroke  can 
labor  lay  to,  without  some  new  acquaintance  with  nature ;  and 
as  nature  is  inexhaustibly  significant,  the  inhabitants  of  these 
climates  have  always  excelled  the  southerner  in  force.  Such 
is  the  value  of  these  matters,  that  a  man  who  knows  other 
things,  can  ever  know  too  much  of  these.  Let  him  have  accu- 
rate perceptions.  Let  him,  if  he  have  hands,  handle ;  if  eyes, 
measure  and  discriminate ;  let  him  accept  and  hive  every  fact 
of  chemistry,  natural  history,  and  economics  ;  the  more  he  has, 
the  less  is  he  willing  to  spare  any  one.  Time  is  always  bring- 


ffe  KMEBSON'8  ES8AY& 

tog  the  occasions  that  disclose  their  value,    oome 
comes  out  of  every  natural  and  innocent  action.    The  domestfc 
man,  who  loves  no  music  so  well  as  his  kitchen  clock,  and  tb<; 
airs  which  the  logs  sing  to  him  as  they  burn  on  the  hearth,  he^ 
solaces  which  others  never  dream  of.    The  application  of  meat 
to  ends,  ensures  victory  and  the  songs  of  victory  not  less  in ; , 
(arm  or  a  shop,  than  in  the  tactics  of  party,  or  of  war.     TE 
good  husband  finds  method  as  efficient  in  the  packing  of  fir 
wood  in  a  shed,  or  in  the  harvesting  of  fruits  in  the  cellar,  ;- 
iii  Peninsular  campaigns  or  the  files  of  the  Department  c 
State.    In  the  rainy  day  he  builds  a  work-bench,  or  gets  h;  , 
tool-box  set  in  the  corner  of  the  barn-chamber,  and  stored  wiC 
nails,  gimlet,  pincers,  screwdriver,  and  chisel.      Herein  he 
tastes  an  old  joy  of  youth  and  childhood,  the  cat-like  love  ofi 
garrets,  presses,  and  corn-chambers,  and  of  the  conveniences 
of  long  housekeeping.     His  garden  or  his  poultry -yard, — very 
paltry  places,  it  may  be, — tell  him  many  pleasant  anecdotes 
One  might  find  argument  for  optimism,  in  the  abundant  flow 
of  this  saccharine  element  of  pleasure,  in  every  suburb  and  ex- 
tremity of  the  good  world.     Let  a  man  keep  the  law, — any 
law, — and  his  way  will  be  strown  with  satisfactions.     There 
is  more  difference  in  the  quality  of  our  pleasures  than  in  the 
amount. 

On  the  other  hand,  nature  punishes  any  neglect  of  prudence. 
If  you  think  the  senses  final,  obey  their  law.  If  you  believe  in 
the  soul,  do  not  clutch  at  sensual  sweetness  before  it  is  ripe  on 
the  slow  tree  of  cause  and  effect.  It  is  vinegar  to  the  eyes,  to 
deal  with  men  of  loose  and  imperfect  perception.  Dr.  Johnson 
is  reported  to  have  said,  "  If  the  child  says,  h3  looked  out  of 
this  window,  when  he  looked  out  of  that,— whip  him."  Our 
American  character  is  marked  by  a  more  than  average  delight 
In  accurate  perception,  which  is  shown  by  the  currency  of  the 
by-word, "  No  mistake."  But  the  discomfort  of  unpunctuality , 
Of  confusion  of  thought  about  facts,  of  inattention  to  the  wantt 
Of  to-morrow,  is  of  no  nation.  The  beautiful  laws  of  time  and 
space  once  dislocated  by  our  inaptitude,  are  holes  and  dens. 
If  the  hive  be  disturbed  by  rash  and  stupid  hands,  instead  of 
honey,  it  will  yield  us  bees.  Our  words  and  actions  to  be  fair, 
must  be  timely.  A  gay  and  pleasant  sound  is  the  whetting 
of  the  scythe  in  the  mornings  of  June  ;  yet  what  is  more  lone 
some  and  sad  than  the  sound  of  a  whetstone  or  mower's  rifle, 
when  It  is  too  late  in  the  season  to  make  hay?  Scatter- 
brained  and  "  afternoon  men"  spoil  much  more  than  their  own 
wmir,  m  spoiling  the  temper  of  those  who  deal  with  them.  I 
fcave  seen  a  criticism  on  some  paintings,  of  which  I  am  rft 


P&UDENCB.  la 

mindea,  vrhen  i  see  the  shiftless  and  unnapp^  men  who  are 
not  true  to  their  senses.  The  last  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar,  a 
man  of  superior  understanding,  said  :  "  I  have  sometimes  re- 
marked in  the  presence  of  great  works  of  art,  and  just  now 
especially,  in  Dresden,  how  much  a  certain  property  con- 
tributes  to  the  effect  which  gives  life  to  the  figures,  and  to  the 
ttfe  an  irresistible  truth.  This  property  is  the  hitting,  in  all 
the  figures  we  draw,  the  right  centre  of  gravity.  I  mean,  the 
placing  the  figures  firm  upon  their  feet,  making  the  hands 
grasp,  and  fastening  the  eyes  on  the  spot  where  they  should 
look.  Even  lifeless  figures,  as  vessels  and  stools, — let  them 
be  drawn  ever  so  correctly, — lose  all  effect  so  soon  as  they 
lack  the  resting  upon  their  centre  of  gravity,  and  have  a  cer- 
tain swimming  and  oscillating  appearance.  The  Raphael,  in 
the  Dresden  gallery,  (the  only  greatly  affecting  picture  which 
J  have  seen,)  is  the  quietest  and  most  passionless  piece  you 
can  imagine ;  a  couple  of  saints  who  worship  the  Virgin  and 
child.  Nevertheless,  it  awakens  a  deeper  impression  than  the 
contortions  of  ten  crucified  martyrs.  For,  beside  all  the  re- 
sistless beauty  of  form,  it  possesses  in  the  highest  degree  the 
property  of  the  perpendicularity  of  all  the  figures." — This  per- 
pendicularity  we  demand  of  all  the  figures  in  this  picture  of 
life.  Let  them  stand  on  their  feet,  and  not  float  and  swing. 
Let  us  know  where  to  find  them.  Let  them  discriminate  be- 
tween what  they  remember,  and  what  they  dreamed.  Let 
them  call  a  spade  a  spade.  Let  them  give  us  facts,  and  honor 
their  own  senses  with  trust. 

But  what  man  shall  dare  tax  another  with  imprudence  f 
Who  is  prudent  ?  The  men  we  call  greatest  are  least  in  this 
kingdom.  There  is  a  certain  fatal  dislocation  in  our  relation 
to  nature,  distorting  all  our  modes  of  living,  and  making  every 
law  our  enemy,  which  seems  at  last  to  have  aroused  all  tht 
wit  and  virtue  in  the  world  to  ponder  the  question  of  Reform, 
We  must  call  the  highest  prudence  to  counsel,  and  ask  why 
aeaith  and  beauty  and  genius  should  now  be  the  exception, 
rather  than  the  rule  of  human  nature  ?  We  do  not  know  the 
properties  of  plants  and  animals  and  the  laws  of  nature 
through  our  sympathy  with  the  same ;  but  this  remains  the 
dream  of  poets.  Poetry  and  prudence  should  be  coincident 
Poets  should  be  lawgivers ;  that  is,  the  boldest  lyric  inspira- 
tion should  not  chide  and  insult,  but  should  announce  and  lead 
the  civil  code,  and  the  day's  work.  But  now  the  two  thinga 
seem  irreconcilably  parted.  We  have  violated  law  upon  law, 
until  we  stand  amidst  ruins,  and  when  by  chance  we  espy  a 
between  reason  and  the  phenomena,  we  are  su» 


394  EMERSON- 'B  ESSAYS. 

or  sed.  Beauty  should  be  the  dowry  at  every  man  and 
woman,  as  invariably  as  sensation  ;  but  it  is  rare.  Health  or 
togpfl  organization  should  be  universal.  Genius  should  be  the 
child  oi  genius,  and  every  child  should  be  inspired ;  but  now 
it  is  not  to  be  predicted  of  any  child,  and  nowhere  is  it  pure. 
We  call  partial  half-lights,  by  courtesy,  genius ;  talent  which 
converts  itself  to  money,  talent  which  glitters  to-day,  that  it 
may  dine  and  sleep  well  to-morrow ;  and  society  is  officered  by 
men  of  parts,  as  they  are  properly  called,  and  not  by  divine 
men.  These  use  their  gifts  to  refine  luxury,  not  to  abolish  it. 
Genius  is  always  ascetic;  and  piety  and  love.  Appetite 
shows  to  the  finer  souls  as  a  disease,  and  they  find  beauty  in 
rites  and  bounds  that  resist  it. 

We  have  found  out  fine  names  to  cover  our  sensuality 
withal,  but  no  gifts  can  raise  intemperance.  The  man  of 
talent  afiects  to  call  his  transgressions  of  the  laws  of  the 
senses  trivial,  and  to  count  them  nothing  considered  with  his 
devotion  to  his  art.  His  art  rebukes  him.  That  never  taught 
him  lewdness,  nor  the  love  of  wine,  nor  the  wish  to  reap  where 
he  had  not  sowed.  His  art  is  less  for  every  deduction  from 
his  holiness,  and  less  for  every  defect  of  common  sense.  On 
him  who  scorned  the  world,  as  he  said,  the  scorned  world 
wreaks  its  revenge.  He  that  despiseth  small  things,  will 
perish  by  little  and  little.  Goethe's  Tasso  is  very  likely  to  be 
a  pretty  fair  historical  portrait,  and  that  is  true  tragedy.  It 
does  not  seem  to  me  so  genuine  grief  when  some  tyrannous 
Richard  III.  oppresses  and  slays  a  score  of  innocent  persons, 
as  when  Antonio  and  Tasso,  both  apparently  right,  wrong 
each  other.  One  living  after  the  maxims  of  this  world,  and 
consistent  and  true  to  them,  the  other  fired  with  all  divine 
sentiments,  yet  grasping  also  at  the  pleasures  of  sense,  with- 
out submitting  to  their  law.  That  is  a  grief  we  all  feel,  a 
knot  we  cannot  untie.  Tasso's  is  no  infrequent  case  in  modern 
biography.  A  man  of  genius,  of  an  ardent  temperament,  reck- 
less of  physical  laws,  self-indulgent,  becomes  presently  unfor« 
tunate,  querulous,  a  "  discomfortable  cousin  "  a  thorn  to  him* 
self  and  to  others. 

The  scholar  shames  us  by  his  bifold  life.  Whilst  some- 
thing higher  than  prudence  is  active,  he  is  admirable ;  when 
common  sense  is  wanted,  he  is  an  incumbrance.  Yesterday, 
Caesar  was  not  so  great ;  to-day,  Job  n<?*  so  miserable.  Ye> 
terday,  radiant  with  the  light  of  an  tfatl  world,  in  which  he 
lives,  the  first  of  men,  and  now  oppressed  by  wants,  and  by 
sickness,  for  which  he  must  thank  himself,  none  is  so  poor  to 
do  him  reverence.  He  assembles  the  opium  eaters,  whom 


travellers  describe  as  frequenting  the  bazaars  ,i  Constantinople 
who  skulk  about  all  day,  the  most  pitiful  drivellers,  yellow, 
emaciated,  ragged,  and  sneaking  ;  then,  at  evening,  when  the 
bazaars  are  open,  they  slink  to  the  opium  shop,  swallow  their 
morsel,  and  become  tranquil,  glorious,  and  great.  And  who 
has  not  seen  the  tragedy  of  imprudent  genius,  struggling  for 
years  with  paltry  pecuniary  difficulties,  at  last  sinking,  chilled, 
exhausted,  and  fruitless,  like  a  giant  slaughtered  by  pins  ? 

Is  it  not  better  that  a  man  should  accept  the  first  pains  and 
mortifications  of  this  sort,  which  nature  is  not  slack  in  sending 
him,  as  hints  that  he  must  accept  no  other  good  than  the  just 
fruit  of  his  own  labor  and  self-denial  ?  Health,  bread,  climate, 
social  position,  have  their  importance,  and  he  will  give  them 
their  due.  Let  him  esteem  Nature  a  perpetual  counsellor,  and 
her  perfections  the  exact  measure  of  our  deviations.  Let  him 
make  the  night,  night,  and  the  day,  day.  Let  him  control  the 
habit  of  expense.  Let  him  see  that  as  much  wisdom  may  be 
expended  on  a  private  economy,  as  on  an  empire,  and  as  much 
wisdom  may  be  drawn  from  it.  The  laws  of  the  world  are 
written  out  for  him  on  every  piece  of  money  in  his  hand. 
There  is  nothing  he  will  not  be  the  better  for  knowing,  were  it- 
only  the  wisdom  of  Poor  Richard  ;  or  the  State-street  prudence 
of  buying  by  the  acre,  to  sell  by  the  foot ;  or  the  thrift  of  the 
agriculturist,  to  stick  a  tree  between  whiles,  because  it  will 
grow  whilst  he  sleeps ;  or  the  prudence  which  consists  in  hus- 
banding little  strokes  of  the  tool,  little  portions  of  time,  par- 
ticles of  stock,  and  small  gains.  The  eye  of  prudence  may 
never  shut.  Iron,  if  kept  at  the  ironmonger's,  will  rust, 
Beer,  if  not  brewed  in  the  right  state  of  the  atmosphere,  will 
sour.  Timber  of  ships  will  rot  at  sea.  or,  if  laid  up  high  and 
dry,  will  strain,  warp,  and  dry-rot.  Money,  if  kept  by  us, 
yields  no  rent,  and  is  liable  to  loss ;  if  invested,  is  liable  to  de 
preciation  of  the  particular  kind  of  stock.  Strike,  says  tht 
smith,  the  iron  is  white.  Keep  the  rake,  says  the  haymaker, 
as  nigh  the  scythe  as  you  can,  and  the  cart  as  nigh  the  rake. 
Our  Yankee  trade  is  reputed  to  be  very  much  on  the  extreme 
of  this  prudence.  It  saves  itself  by  its  activity.  It  takes 
bank-notes — good,  bad,  clean,  ragged,  and  saves  itself  by  the 
4peed  with  which  it  passes  them  off.  Iron  cannot  rust,  nor  beer 
sour,  nor  timber  rot,  nor  calicoes  go  out  of  fashion,  nor  money- 
stocks  depreciate,  in  the  few  swift  moments  which  the  Yankee 
suffers  any  one  of  them  to  remain  in  his  possession.  In  skat- 
ing over  thin  ice,  our  safety  is  in  our  speed. 

Let  him  learn  a  prudence  of  a  higher  strain.  Let  him  learn 
that  every  thing  in  nature,  even  motes  and  feathers,  go  by  law 


46  EMERSON1  S  ESSAYS. 

and  not  uy  men,  and  that  what  he  sows,  he  reapb-  jjy  diligence 
and  self-command,  let  him  put  the  bread  he  eats  at  his  own  dis- 
posal, and  not  at  that  of  others,  that  he  may  not  stand  in  bitter 
and  false  relations  to  other  men ;  for  the  best  good  of  wealth  is 
freedom.  Let  him  practice  the  minor  virtues.  How  much  oi 
human  life  is  lost  in  waiting  !  Let  him  not  make  his  fellow  crea- 
tures wait.  How  many  words  and  promises  are  promises  ot  con« 
versation !  Let  his  be  words  of  fate.  When  he  sees  a  tolded  and 
sealed  scrap  of  paper  float  round  the  globe  in  a  pine  ship,  and 
come  safe  to  the  eye  lor  which  it  was  written,  amidst  a  swarming 
population  ;  let  him  likewise  feel  the  admonition  to  integrate 
his  being  across  all  these  distracting  forces,  and  keep  a  slender 
human  word  among  the  storms,  distances,  and  accidents,  that 
drive  us  hither,  and  thither,  and,  by  persistency,  make  the 
paltry  force  of  one  man  reappear  to  redeem  its  pledge,  after 
months  and  years,  in  the  most  distant  climates. 

We  must  not  try  to  write  the  laws  of  any  one  virtue,  look« 
ing  at  that  only.  Human  nature  loves  no  contradictions,  but 
is  symmetrical.  The  prudence  which  secures  an  outward  well* 
being,  is  not  to  be  studied  by  one  set  of  men,  whilst  heroism 
and  holiness  are  studied  by  another,  but  they  are  reconcilable. 
Prudence  concerns  the  present  time,  persons,  property,  and 
existing  forms.  But  as  every  fact  hath  its  roots  in  the  soul, 
and  if  the  soul  were  changed,  would  cease  to  be,  or  would  be- 
come some  other  thing,  therefore,  the  proper  administration  of 
outward  things  will  always  rest  on  a  just  apprehension  of 
their  cause  and  origin,  that  is,  the  good  man  will  be  the  wise 
man,  and  the  single-hearted,  the  politic  man.  Every  violation 
of  truth  is  not  only  a  sort  of  suicide  in  the  liar,  but  is  a  stab 
at  the  health  of  human  society.  On  the  most  profitable  lie, 
the  course  of  events  presently  lays  a  destructive  tax  ;  whilst 
frankness  proves  to  be  the  best  tactics,  for  it  invites  frankness, 
puts  the  parties  on  a  convenient  footing,  and  makes  their  busi- 
ness a  friendship.  Trust  men,  and  they  will  be  true  to  you ; 
treat  them  greatly,  and  they  will  show  themselves  great, 
though  they  make  an  exception  in  your  favor  to  all  their  rules 
of  trade. 

So,  in  regard  to  disagreeable  and  formidable  things,  pru- 
dence does  not  consist  in  evasion,  or  in  flight,  but  in  courage. 
He  who  wishes  to  walk  in  the  most  peaceful  parts  of  life  with 
any  serenity,  must  screw  himself  up  to  resolution.  Let  him 
front  the  object  of  his  worst  apprehension,  and  his  stoutness 
will  commonly  make  his  fear  groundless.  The  Latin  proverb 
says,  that  "  in  battles,  the  eye  is  first  overcome."  The  eye  is 
daunted,  and  greatly  exaggerates  the  perils  of  the  hour.  £o> 


tire  seiripossession  may  make  a  battle  very  little  more  danger- 
ous  to  live  than  a  match  at  foils  or  at  football.  Examples  are 

mtS^i  y  «°  -rS'  °f  men  Wh°  have  8een  the  cannon  Pointed, 
and  the  fire  given  to  it,  and  who  have  stepped  aside  from  the 
path  of  the  ball.  The  terrors  of  the  storm  are  chiefly  con- 
fined  to  the  parlor  and  the  cabin.  The  drover,  the  sailor,  buf- 
fets it  all  day,  and  his  health  renews  itself  at  as  vigorous  a 
pulse  under  the  sleet,  as  under  the  sun  of  June. 

In  the  occurrence  of  unpleasant  things  among  neighbors, 
fear  comes  readily  to  heart,  and  magnifies  the  consequence 
of  the  other  party ;  but  it  is  a  bad  counsellor.  Every  man  is 
actually  weak,  and  apparently  strong.  To  himself,  he  seems 
weak ;  to  others,  formidable.  You  are  afaid  of  Grim ;  but 
Grim  also  is  afraid  of  you.  You  are  solicitous  of  the  good 
will  of  the  meanest  person,  uneasy  at  his  ill  will.  But  the 
sturdiest  offender  of  your  peace  and  of  the  neighborhood,  if 
you  rip  up  his  claims,  is  as  thin  and  timid  as  any ;  and  th< 
peace  of  society  is  often  kept,  because,  as  children  say,  one  Jt 
afraid,  and  the  other  dares  not.  Far  off,  men  swell,  bully,  and 
threaten:  bring  them  hand  to  hand,  and  they  are  a  feebte 

It  is  a  proverb,  thai  courtesy  costs  nothing ; '  but  calcufc 
tion  might  come  to  value  love  for  its  profit.  Love  is  fabled  f 
be  blind  ;  but  kindness  is  necessary  to  perception  ;  love  is  no* 
a  hood,  but  an  eye-water.  If  you  meet  a  sectary,  or  a  hostil, 
partisan,  never  recognize  the  dividing  lines ;  but  meet  on  whal 
common  ground  remains, — if  only  that  the  sun  shines,  and  the 
rain  rains  for  both, — the  area  will  widen  very  fast,  and  ere 
you  know  it,  the  boundary  mountains,  on  which  the  eye  had 
fastened,  have  melted  into  air.  If  he  set  out  to  contend,  al- 
most St.  Paul  will  lie,  almost  St.  John  will  hate.  What  low, 
poor,  paltry,  hypocritical  people,  an  argument  on  religion  will 
make  Ji  the  pure  and  chosen  souls.  Shuffle  they  will,  arc; 
crow,  crook,  and  hide,  feign  to  confess  here,  only  that  tli. 
may  brag  and  conquer  there,  and  not  a  thought  has  enriched 
either  party,  and  not  an  emotion  of  bravery,  modesty,  or  hope 
So  neither  should  you  put  yourself  in  a  false  position  to  youi 
contemporaries,  by  indulging  a  vein  of  hostility  and  bitterness 
Though  your  views  are  in  straight  antagonism  to  theirs,  as- 
sume an  identity  of  sentiment,  assume  that  jrou  are  saying 
precisely  that  which  all  think,  and  in  the  flow  of  wit  and  love, 
roll  out  your  paradoxes  in  solid  column,  with  not  t!:e  infirmity 
4  a  doubt.  So  at  least  shall  you  get  an  adequate  deliverance. 
The  natural  motions  of  the  soul  are  so  much  better  tl 
voluntary  ones,  that  you  will  never  do  yourself  justice  in  di» 


0g  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS* 

pute  The  thought  is  not  tne»  taken  hold  of  by  die  ngfc* 
handle,  does  not  show  itself  proportionate,  and  in  its  true 
bearings,  but  bears  extorted,  hoarse,  and  half  witness.  But 
assume  a  consent,  and  it  shall  presently  be  granted,  since, 
really,  and  underneath  all  their  external  diversities,  all  men 
are  of  one  heart  and  mind. 

Wisdom  will  never  let  us  stand  with  any  man  or  men,  on 
an  unfriendly  footing.  We  refuse  sympathy  and  intimacy 
with  people,  as  if  we  waited  for  some  better  S3rmpathy  and 
intimacy  to  come.  But  whence  and  when  ?  To-morrow  will 
be  like  to-day.  Life  wastes  itself  whilst  we  are  preparing  to 
live.  Our  friends  and  fellow-workers  die  off  from  us, 
Scarcely  can  we  say  we  see  new  men,  new  women,  approach- 
ing us.  We  are  too  old  to  regard  fashion,  too  old  to  expect 
patronage  of  any  greater,  or  more  powerful.  Let  us  suck 
the  cweetness  of  those  affections  and  consuetudes  that  grow 
near  us.  These  old  shoes  are  easy  to  the  feet.  Undoubtedly, 
we  can  easily  pick  faults  in  our  company,  can  easily  whisper 
names  prouder,  and  that  tickle  the  fancy  more.  Every  man's 
imagination  hath  its  friends ;  and  pleasant  would  life  be  with 
such  companions.  But,  if  you  cannot  have  them  on  good  mu- 
tual terms,  you  cannot  have  them.  If  not  the  Deity,  but  our 
ambition  hews  and  shapes  the  new  relations,  their  virtue  es- 
capes, as  strawberries  lose  their  flavor  in  garden-beds. 

Thus  truth,  frankness,  courage,  love,  numility,  and  all  the 
virtues  range  themselves  on  the  side  of  prudence,  or  the  art 
of  securing  a  present  well-being.  I  do  not  know  if  all  matter 
will  be  found  to  be  made  of  one  element,  as  oxygen  or  hydro- 
gen, at  last,  but  the  world  of  manners  and  actions  is  wrought 
of  one  stuff,  and  begin  where  we  will,  we  are  pretty  sure  *.  ft 
**H»rt  tpace.  to  he  mumbling  our  ten  comniandstteiit*- 


HEROISM. 

to  under  the  shadow  of  swords." 


JSSAYVOL 

HEROISM. 

IK  the  elder  English  dramatists,  and  mainly  in  the  playt  oi 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  there  is  a  constant  recognition  of 
gentility,  as  if  a  noble  behavior  were  as  easily  marked  hi  the 
society  of  their  agt,  aa  solor  is  in  our  American  population. 
When  any  Rodrigo,  Pedro,  or  Valerio  enters,  though  he  be  » 
stranger,  the  duke  or  governor  exclaims.  This  is  a  gentleman, 
r— and  proffers  civilities  irithout  end  ;  but  all  the  rest  are  slag 
and  refuse.  In  harmony  with  this  delight  in  personal  advan- 
tages, there  is  in  their  pkys  a  certain  heroic  cast  of  character 
and  dialogue, — as  in  Boaduca,  Sophocles,  the  Mad  Lover,  the 
Double  Marriage, — wherein  the  speaker  is  so  earnest  and  COP» 
dial,  and  on  such  deep  grounds  of  character,  that  the  dialogue, 
on  the  slightest  additional  incident  in  the  plot,  rises  naturally 
into  poetry.  Among  many  texts,  take  the  following.  The 
Roman  Martius  has  conquered  Athens, — all  but  the  invincible 
spirits  of  Sophocles,  the  duke  of  Athens,  and  Dorigen,  his  wife. 
The  beauty  of  the  latter  inflames  Martius,  and  he  seeks  to  save 
her  husband ;  but  Sophocles  will  not  ask  his  life,  although  as- 
sured that  a  word  will  save  him,  and  the  execution  of  both 
proceeds. 

Valerius.     Bid  thy  wife  farewell. 

Soph.    No,  I  will  take  no  leave.    My  Dorigen, 
Bonder,  above,  'bout  Ariadne's  crown, 
My  spirit  shall  hover  for  thee.     Pri  (hee,  haste. 

Dor.    Stay,  Sophocles,— with  this,  tie  up  thy  sight 
Let  not  soft  nature  so  transformed  be, 
And  lose  her  gentler  sexed  humanity, 
To  make  me  see  my  lord  bleed.    So,  't  is  well; 
Never  one  object  underneath  the  sun 
Will  I  behold  before  my  Sophocles  : 
Farewell ;  now  teach  the  Romans  how  to  die. 

Mar.     Dost  know  what 't  is  to  die? 

Soph.    Thou  dost  not,  Martins, 
And  therefore,  not  what 't  is  to  lixe ;  to  die 
Is  to  begin  to  live.    It  is  to  end 
An  old,  stale,  weary  work,  and  to  commence 
A  newer,  and  a  better.     T  is  to  leave 
Oeceitful  knaves  for  the  society 


jgg  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

Of  eods  and  goodness.    Thou,  thyself,  must  part 
At  E  fronfaTthy  garlands,  pleasures  triumphs, 
And  prove  thy  fortitude  what  then  't  will  do. 

FoZ     But  art  not  grieved  or  vexed  to  leave  thy  life  thus* 
Soph.    Why  should  I  grieve  or  vex  for  being  sent 
To  them  I  ever  loved  best?    Now  I'll  kneel, 
But  with  my  back  towards  thee ;  t  is  the  last  duty 
This  trunk  can  do  the  gods. 

Mar.    Strike,  strike,  Valerias, 
Or  Martius'  heart  will  leap  out  at  his  moutri : 
This  is  a  man,  a  woman  !    Kiss  thy  lord, 
And  live  with  all  the  freedom  you  were  wont. 
O  love!  tbou  doubly  has  afflicted  me 
With  virtue  and  with  beauty.     Treacherous  heart, 
My  hand  shall  cast  thee  quick  into  my  urn, 
Ere  thon  transgress  this  knot  of  piety. 
Vol.    What  ails  my  brother? 
Sojti.     Martius,  oh  Martius, 
Thou  now  hast  found  a  way  to  conquer  me. 

Dor.    O  star  of  Rome  !  what  gratitude  can  speak 
Fit  words  to  follow  such  a  deed  as  this! 
Mar.    This  admirable  duke,  Valerius, 
With  his  disdain  of  fortune  and  of  death, 
Taptived  himself,  has  captivated  me, 
Vnd  though  my  arm  hath  ta'en  his  body  her^ 
His  soul  hath  subjugated  Martius'  soul. 
By  Romulus,  he  is  all  soul,  I  think; 
He  hath  no  flesh,  and  spirit  cannot  be  gyved} 
Then  we  have  vanquished  nothing  ;  he  is  free, 
And  Martins  walks  now  in  captivity. 

\  do  not  readily  remember  any  poem,  play,  sermon, 
or  oration,  that  our  press  vents  in  the  last  few  years,  whici 
goes  to  the  same  tune.  We  have  a  great  many  flutes  an( 
flageolets,  but  not  often  the  sound  of  any  fife.  Yet,  Words 
worth's  Laodamia,  and  the  ode  of  "  Dion,"  and  some  sonnets, 
have  a  certain  noble  music ;  and  Scott  will  sometimes  draw 
a  stroke  like  the  portrait  of  Lord  Evandale,  given  by  Balfoui 
of  Burley.  Thomas  Carlyle,  wit!  bis  natural  taste  for  what 
is  manly  and  daring  in  character,  has  suffered  no  heroic  trait 
fa  his  favorites  to  drop  from  his  biographical  and  historical 
pictures.  Earlier,  Robert  Burns  has  given  us  a  song  or  two. 
In  the  Harleian  Miscellanies,  there  is  a»  account  of  the  battle 
P-*  Lutzen,  which  deserves  to  be  read.  And  Simon  Ockley's 
History  of  the  Saracens,  recounts  the  prodigies  of  individual 
ralor  with  admiration,  all  the  more  evident  on  the  part  of  the 
»arrator,  that  he  seems  to  think  that  his  place  in  Christian 
Oxford  requires  of  him  some  proper  protestations  of  abhor- 
rence. But  if  we  explore  the  literature  of  Heroism,  we  stall 
to  Plnt»mh  -^  is  lte  Doctor  and  historian 


BEBOISSt.  133 

To  him  we  owe  the  Brasidas,  the  Dion,  the  Epaminondas.  the 
Scipio  of  old,  and  I  must  think  we  are  more  deeply  indebted 
to  him  than  to  all  the  ancient  writers.  Each  of  his  "  Lives  K 
is  a  refutation  to  the  despondency  and  cowardice  of  our  reli- 
gious and  political  theorists.  A  wild  courage,  a  stoicism  not 
01  the  schools,  but  cf  the  blood,  shines  in  every  anecdote,  and 
has  given  that  book  ,'ts  immense  fame. 

We  need  books  of  this  tart  cathartic  virtue,  more  than 
books  of  political  science,  or  of  private  economy.  Life  is  a 
festival  only  to  the  wise.  Seen  from  the  nook  and  chimney- 
oide  of  prudence,  it  wears  a  ragged  and  dangerous  front.  The 
violations  of  the  laws  of  nature  by  our  predecessors  and  our 
contemporaries,  are  punished  in  us  also.  The  disease  and  de» 
formity  around  us,  certify  the  infraction  of  natural,  intellect- 
ual, and  moral  laws,  and  often  violation  on  violation  to  breed 
such  compound  misery.  A  lock-jaw,  that  bends  a  man's  head 
back  to  his  heels,  hydrophobia,  that  makes  him  bark  at  his 
wife  and  babes,  insanity,  that  makes  him  eat  grass,  war, 
plague,  cholera,  famine,  indicate  a  certain  ferocity  in  nature, 
which,  as  it  had  its  inlet  by  human  crime,  mast  have  its  out- 
let by  human  suffering.  Unhappily,  almost  no  man  exists, 
who  has  not  in  his  own  person,  become  to  some  amount,  a 
stockholder  in  the  sin,  and  so  made  himself  liable  to  a  share 
in  the  expiation. 

Our  culture,  therefore,  must  not  omit  the  arming  of  the 
i:mn.  Let  him  hear  in  season,  that  he  is  born  into  the  state 
oi  war,  and  th*t  the  commonwealth  and  his  own  well-being, 
require  that  hi  ."hould  not  go  dancing  in  the  weeds  of  peace, 
but  warned,  sell-w1Jected,  and  neither  defying  nor  dreading 
the  thunder,  let  him  lake  both  reputation  and  life  in  his  handl 
and  with  perfect  urbanity,  dare  the  gibbet  and  the  mob  by 
the  absolute  truth  of  his  speech,  and  the  rectitude  of  his  be- 
havior. 

Towards  all  this  external  evil,  the  man  within  the  breast 
assumes  a  warlike  attitude,  and  affirms  his  ability  to  cope 
single-handed  with  the  infinite  army  of  enemies.  To  this 
military  attitude  of  the  soul,  we  give  the  name  of  Heroism. 
Its  rudest  form  is  the  contempt  for  safety  and  ease,  which 
makes  the  attractiveness  of  war.  It  is  a  self-trust  which 
slights  the  restraints  of  prudence  in  the  plenitude  of  its  en- 
ergy and  power  to  repair  the  harms  it  may  suffer.  The  hero 
is  a  mind  of  such  balance  that  no  disturbances  win  shake  his 
will,  but  pleasantly,  and,  as  it  were,  merrily,  he  advances  to 
his  own  music,  alike  in  frightful  alarms,  and  in  the  tipsy 
mirth  of  universal  dissoluteness.  There  is  somewhat  oot 


,31  BifEBSON'8  E88AT& 

philosophical  in  heroism  ;  there  is  somewhat  not  holy  in  It  s 
it  seems  not  to  know  that  other  souls  are  of  one  texture  with 
it;  it  hath  pride;  it  is  the  extreme  of  individual  nature. 
Nevertheless,  we  must  profoundly  revere  it.  There  is  some- 
what in  great  actions,  which  does  not  allow  us  to  go  behind 
them.  Heroism  feels  and  never  reasons,  and  ther  fore  is 
always  right,  and,  although  a  different  breeding,  different  re- 
ligion, and  greater  intellectual  activity,  would  have  modified, 
or  even  reversed  the  particular  action,  yet  for  the  hero,  that 
thing  he  does,  is  the  highest  deed,  and  is  not  open  to  the  cen- 
sure of  philosophers  or  divines.  It  is  the  avowal  of  the  ur_- 
sehooled  man,  that  he  finds  a  quality  in  him  that  is  negligent 
of  expense,  of  health,  of  Kio,  of  danger,  of  hatred,  of  reproach, 
and  that  he  knows  that  his  will  is  higher  and  more  excellent 
than  all  actual  and  all  possible  antagonists. 

Heroism  works  in  contradiction  to  the  voice  of  mankind, 
and  in  contradiction,  for  a  time,  to  the  voice  of  the  great  and 
good.  Heroism  is  an  obedience  to  a  secret  impulse  of  an  in- 
dividual's character.  Now  to  no  other  man  can  its  wisdom 
appear  as  it  does  to  him,  for  every  man  must  be  supposed  to 
see  a  little  farther  on  his  own  proper  path,  than  any  one  else. 
Therefore,  just  and  wise  men  take  umbrage  at  his  act,  until 
after  some  little  be  past :  then,  they  see  it  to  be  in  unison 
with  their  acts.  All  prudent  men  see  that  the  action  is  clean 
contrary  to  a  sensual  prosperity  ;  for  every  heroic  act  meas- 
ures itself  by  its  contempt  of  some  external  good.  But  it 
finds  its  own  success  at  last,  and  then  the  prudent  also  extoL 

Self-trust  is  the  essence  of  heroism.  It  is  the  state  of  ^he 
aoul  at  war,  and  its  ultimate  objects  are  the  last  defiance  of 
fclsehood  and  wrong,  and  the  power  to  bear  all  that  can  be 
inflicted  by  evil  agents.  It  speaks  the  truth,  and  it  is  just. 
It  is  generous,  hospitable,  temperate,  scornful  of  petty  calcu- 
lations, and  scornful  of  being  scorned.  It  persists  ;  it  is  of 
in  undaunted  boldness,  and  of  a  fortitude  not  to  be  wearied 
out.  Its  jest  is  the  littleness  of  common  life.  That  false 
prudence  which  dotes  on  health  and  wealth,  is  the  foil,  the 
butt  and  merriment  of  heroism.  Heroism,  like  Plotinus,  is 
almost  ashamed  of  its  body.  What  shall  it  say,  then,  to  t"_3 
sugar-plums,  and  cats'-cradles,  to  the  toilet,  compliments, 
quarrels,  cards,  and  custard,  which  rack  the  wit  of  all  human 
society.  What  joys  has  kind  nature  provided  for  us  dear 
creatures !  There  seems  to  be  no  interval  between  greatness 
and  meanness.  When  the  spirit  is  not  master  of  the  world, 
then  is  it  its  dupe.  Yet  the  little  man  takes  the  great  boa?. 
•o  innocently,  works  in  it  so  h^kmg  and  believing  is  bor» 


HEROISM.  139 

t'ed,  and  dies  gray,  arranging  his  toilet,  attending  on  his  own 
health,  laying  traps  for  sweet  food  and  strong  wine,  setting 
bis  heart  on  a  horse  or  a  rifle,  made  happy  with  a  little  gossip, 
or  a  little  praise,  that  the  great  soul  cannot  choose  but  laugh 
at  such  earnest  nonsense.  "  Indeed,  these  humble  considera- 
tions make  me  out  of  love  with  greatness.  What  a  disgrace 
is  it  to  me  to  take  note  how  many  pairs  of  silk  stockings  thou 
hast,  namely,  these  and  those  that  were  the  peach-colorec 
ones,  or  to  bear  the  inventory  of  thy  shirts,  as  one  for  supe; 
fluity,  and  one  other  for  use." 

Citizens,  thinking  after  the  laws  of  arithmetic,  consider  the 
inconvenience  of  receiving  strangers  at  their  fireside,  reckon 
narrowly  the  loss  of  time  and  the  unusual  display  :  the  soul 
of  a  better  quality  thrusts  back  the  unseasonable  economy  into 
the  vaults  of  lite,  and  says,  I  will  obey  the  God,  and  the  sacri- 
fice and  the  fire  he  will  provide.  Ibn  Hankal,  the  Arabian 
xreographer,  describes  a  heroic  extreme  in  the  hospitality  of 
Sogd,  in  Bukharia.  "  When  I  was  in  Sogd,  I  saw  a  great 
juilding,  like  a  palace,  the  gates  ™i  which  were  open  and  fixed 
back  to  the  wall  with  large  nails.  I  asked  the  reason,  and  was 
told  that  the  house  had  not  been  shut  night  or  day,  for  a 
hundred  years.  Strangers  may  present  themselves  at  any 
iour,  and  in  whatever  number ;  the  master  has  amply  pro- 
vided for  the  reception  of  the  men  and  their  animals,  and  is 
never  happier  than  when  they  tarry  for  some  time.  Nothing 
of  the  kind  have  I  seen  in  any  other  country."  The  magnani- 
mous know  very  well  that  they  who  give  time,  or  money,  or 
shelter,  to  the  stranger — so  it  be  done  for  love,  and  not  for  os- 
tentation— do,  as  it  were,  put  God  under  obligation  to  them, 
so  perfect  are  the  compensations  ol  the  universe.  In  some 
way,  the  time  they  seem  to  lose,  is  redeemed,  and  the  pains 
they  seem  to  take,  remunerate  themselves.  These  men  fan  the 
flame  of  human  love  and  raise  the  standard  c.  civil  virtue 
among  mankind.  But  hospitality  must  be  for  service,  and  not 
for  show,  or  it  pulls  down  the  host.  The  brave  soul  rates  it- 
self too  high  to  value  itself  by  the  splendor  of  its  table  and 
draperies.  It  gives  what  it  hath,  and  all  it  hath,  but  its  own 
majesty  can  lend  a  better  grace  to  bannocks  and  fair  water, 
f,han  belong  to  city  feasts. 

The  temperance  01  the  hero,  proceeds  from  the  same  wish  to 
do  no  dishonor  to  the  worthiness  he  has.  But  he  loves  it  rot- 
its  elegancy,  not  for  its  austerity.  It  seems  not  worth  his 
while  to  be  solemn,  and  denounce  with  bitterness  flesh-eating, 
Or  wine-drinking,  the  use  of  tobacco,  or  opium,  or  tea,  or  silk, 
jr  gold.  A  great  man  scarcely  knows  how  he  dines,  how  be 


196  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

dresses,  but  without  railing  or  precision,  his  living  is  natural 
and  poetic.  John  Eliot,  the  Indian  Apostle,  drank  water,  an3 
said  of  wine,  "  It  is  a  noble,  generous  liquor,  and  we  should 
be  humbly  thankful  for  it,  but.  as  I  remember,  water  waa 
made  before  it."  Better  still,  is  the  temperance  of  king 
David,  who  poured  out  on  the  ground  unto  the  Lord,  tha 
water  which  three  of  his  warrioKS  had  brought  him  to  drink,  a* 
the  peril  of  their  lives. 

It  is  told  of  Brutus,  that  when  he  fell  on  his  sword,  aftertL-i 
battle  of  Philippi,  he  quoted  a  line  of  Euripides,  "  O  virtue,  j* 
have  followed  thee  through  life,  and  I  find  thee  at  last  but  a 
shade."  I  doubt  not  the  hero  is  slandered  by  this  report, 
The  heroic  soul  docs  not  sell  its  justice  and  its  nobleness.  I; 
does  not  ask  to  dine  nicely,  and  to  sleep  warm.  The  essence* 
of  greatness  is  the  perception  that  virtue  is  enough.  Poverty 
is  its  ornament.  Plenty,  it  does  not  need,  and  can  very  well 
abide  its  loss. 

But  that  which  takes  my  fancy  most,  in  the  heroic  class,  is 
the  good  humor  and  hilarity  they  exhibit.  It  is  a  height  to 
which  common  duty  can  very  well  attain,  to  suffer  and  to  dare 
with  solemnity.  But  these  rare  souls  set  opinion,  success, 
and  life,  at  so  cheap  a  rate;  that  they  will  not  soothe  their 
enemies  by  petitions,  or  the  show  of  sorrow,  but  wear  their  own 
habitual  greatness.  Scipio,  charged  with  peculation,  refuses 
to  do  himself  so  great  a  disgrace,  as  to  wait  for  justification, 
though  he  had  the  scroll  of  his  accounts  in  his  hands,  but 
tears  it  to  pieces  before  the  tribunes.  Socrates'  condemnation 
of  himself  to  be  maintained  in  all  honor  in  the  Prytaneum,  dur- 
ing his  life,  and  Sir  Thomas  More's  playfulness  at  the  scaffold, 
are  of  the  same  strain.  In  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Sea 
Voyage,"  Juletta  tells  the  stout  captain  and  his  company, 

Jt«7.    Why,  slaves,  't  is  in  our  power  to  hang  ye. 
Matter.  Very  likely, 

T  is  in  oar  powers,  then,  to  be  hanged,  and  scorn  ye. 

These  replies  are  sound  and  whole.  Sport  is  the  bloom  and 
glow  cS  a  perfect  health.  The  great  will  not  condescend  to 
take  any  thing  seriously ;  all  must  be  as  gay  as  the  song  of  a 
canary,  though  it  were  the  building  of  cities  or  the  eradica- 
tion of  old  and  foolish  churches  and  nations,  which  have  cum- 
bered the  earth  long  thousands  of  years.  Simple  hearts  put 
all  the  history  and  customs  of  this  world  behind  them,  and  play 
their  own  play  in  innocent  defiance  of  the  Blue-Laws  of  the 
world ;  and  such  would  appear,  could  we  see  the  human  race 
assembled  in  vision,  like  little  children  frolicking  together, 


HEROISM.  HI 

though,  to  the  eyes  o*  -nanKind  at  large,  they  wear  a  stately 
and  solemn  garb  of  works  and  influences. 

The  interest  these  fine  stories  have  for  us,  the  power  of  a 
romance  over  the  boy  who  grasps  the  forbidden  book  under 
his  bench  at  school,  our  delight  in  the  hero,  is  the  main  fact  to 
our  purpose.  All  these  great  and  transcendent  properties  are 
ours.  If  we  dilate  in  beholding  the  Greek  energy,  the  Roman 
pride,  it  is  that  we  are  already  domesticating  the  same  senti- 
ment. Let  us  find  room  for  this  great  guest  in  oui  small 
houses.  The  first  step  of  worthiness  will  be  to  disabuse  us  of 
our  superstitious  associations  with  places  and  times,  with 
number  and  size.  Why  should  these  words,  Athenian,  Roman, 
Asia,  and  England,  so  tingle  in  the  ear?  Let  us  feel  that 
where  the  heart  is,  there  the  muses,  there  the  gods  sojourn, 
and  not  in  any  geography  of  fame.  Massachusetts,  Connec- 
ticut River,  and  Boston  Bay,  }TOU  think  paltry  places,  and 
the  ear  loves  names  of  foreign  and  classic  topography.  But 
here  we  are ; — that  is  a  great  fact,  and,  if  we  will  tarry  a  little, 
we  may  come  to  learn  that  here  is  best.  See  to  it,  only  that 
thyself  is  here  ; — and  art  and  nature,  hope  and  dread,  friends, 
angels,  and  the  Supreme  Being,  shall  not  be  absent  from  the 
chamber  where  thou  sittest  Epaminondas,  brave  and  affec- 
tionate, does  not  seem  to  us  to  need  Olympus  to  die  upon,  noz 
the  Syrian  sunshine.  He  lies  very  well  where  he  is.  The 
Jerseys  were  handsome  ground  enough  for  Washington  to 
tread,  and  London  streets  for  the  feet  of  Milton.  A  great  man 
illustrates  his  place,  makes  his  climate  genial  in  the  imagina- 
tion of  men,  and  its  air  the  beloved  element  of  all  delicate 
spirits.  That  country  is  the  fairest,  which  is  inhabited  by  the 
noblest  minds.  The  pictures  which  fill  the  imagination  in 
reading  the  actions  of  Pericles,  Xenophon,  Columbus,  Bayard, 
Sidney,  Hampden,  teach  us  how  needlessly  mean  our  life  is, 
that  we,  by  the  depth  of  our  living,  should  deck  it  with  more 
than  regal  or  national  splendor,  and  act  on  principles  that 
should  interest  man  and  nature  in  the  length  of  our  days. 

We  have  seen  or  heard  of  many  extraordinary  young  men, 
who  never  ripened,  or  whose  performance  in  actual  life,  was 
not  extraordinary.  When  we  see  their  air  and  mien,  when  we 
hear  them  speak  of  society,  of  books,  of  religion,  we  admire 
their  superiority,  they  seem  to  throw  contempt  on  the  whole 
state  of  the  world;  theirs  is  the  tone  of  a  youthful  giant,  who 
is  sent  to  work  revolutions.  But  they  enter  an  active  pro- 
fession,  and  the  forming  Colossus  shrinks  to  the  common  size 
of  man.  The  magic  they  used,  was  the  ideal  tendencies,  which 
always  make  the  Actual  ridiculous ;  but  the  tough  world  had 


S88  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

tas  revenge  the  moment  they  put  their  horses  of  the  sun  to 
plough  in  its  furrow.  They  found  no  example  and  no  com- 
panion, and  their  heart  fainted.  What  then  ?  The  lesson  they 
gave  in  their  first  aspirations,  is  yet  true,  and  a  better  valor, 
and  a  purer  truth,  shall  one  day  execute  their  will,  and  put  the 
world  to  shame.  Or  why  should  a  woman  liken  herself  to  any 
historical  woman,  and  think,  because  Sappho,  or  Sevigne,  or 
De  Stael,  or  the  cloistered  souls  who  have  had  genius  and  cul- 
tivation, do  not  satisfy  the  imagination,  and  the  serene  Themis, 
none  can,— certainly  not  she.  Why  not  ?  She  has  a  new  and 
unattempted  problem  to  solve,  perchance  that  of  the  happiest 
nature  that  ever  bloomed.  Let  the  maiden,  with  erect  soul, 
walk  serenely  on  her  way,  accept  the  hint  of  each  new  experi- 
ence, try,  in  turn,  all  the  gifts  God  offers  her,  that  she  may 
learn  the  power  and  the  charm,  that  like  a  new  dawn  radiat- 
ing out  of  the  deep  of  space,  her  newborn  being  is.  The  fair 
girl,  who  repels  interference  by  a,  decided  and  proud  choice  of 
influences,  so  careless  of  pleasing,  so  wilful  and  lofty,  inspires 
every  beholder  with  somewhat  of  her  own  nobleness.  The 
silent  heart  encourages  her;  O  friend,  never  strike  sail  to  a 
fear.  Come  into  port  greatly,  or  sail  with  God  the  seas.  Not 
in  vain  you  live,  for  every  passing  eye  is  cheered  and  refined 
by  the  vision. 

The  characteristic  of  a  genuine  heroism  is  its  persistencj 
All  men  have  wandering  impulses,  fits  and  starts  of  generosity, 
But  when  you  have  resolved  to  be  great,  abide  by  yourself, 
and  do  not  weakly  try  to  reconcile  yourself  with  the  world. 
The  heroic  cannot  be  the  common,  nor  the  common  the  heroic. 
Yet  we  have  the  weakness  to  expect  the  sympathy  of  people 
in  those  actions  whose  excellence  is  that  the}'  outrun  sym- 
pathy, and  appeal  to  a  tardy  justice.  If  you  would  serve 
your  brother,  because  it  is  fit  for  you  to  serve  him,  do  not  take 
back  jrour  words  when  you  find  that  prudent  people  do  not 
commend  you.  Be  true  to  your  own  act,  and  congratulate 
yourself  if  you  have  done  something  strange  and  extravagant, 
and  broken  the  monotony  of  a  decorous  age.  It  was  a  higt 
counsel  that  I  once  heard  given  to  a  young  person,  "  Alwayfe 
do  what  you  are  afraid  to  do/'  A  simple  manly  character 
need  never  make  an  apology,  but  should  regard  its 'past  action 
with  the  calmness  of  Phocion,  when  he  admitted  that  the 
event  of  the  battle  was  happy,  yet  did  not  regret  his  dis- 
suasion from  the  battle. 

There  is  no  weakness  or  exposure  for  which  we  cannot  find 
consolation  in  the  thought, — this  is  a  part  of  my  constitution 
pori  of  my  relation  and  office  to  my  fellow  creature.  Haa 


HEROISM,  138 

nature  covenanted  with  me  that  I  should  never  appear  to  dis- 
advantage, never  make  a  ridiculous  figure  ?  Let  us  be  gener- 
ous of  our  dignity,  as  well  as  of  our  money.  Greatness  once  and 
forever  has  done  with  opinion.  We  tell  our  charities,  not  be- 
cause  we  wish  to  be  praised  for  them,  not  because  we  think 
they  have  great  merit,  but  for  our  justification.  It  is  a  capital 
blunder  ;  as  you  discover>  when  another  man  recites  his  char- 
ities. 

To  speak  the  truth,  even  with  some  austerity,  to  live  witl 
some  rigor  of  temperance,  or  some  extremes  of  generosity, 
seems  to  be  an  asceticism  which  common  good  nature  would 
appoint  to  those  who  are  at  ease  and  in  plenty,  in  sign  that 
they  feel  a  brotherhood  with  great  multitude  of  suffering  men. 
And  not  only  need  we  breathe  and  exercise  the  soul  by  assum- 
ing the  penalties  of  abstinence,  of  debt,  of  solitude,  of  unpopu- 
larity, but  it  behooves  the  wise  man  to  look  with  a  bold  eye 
into  those  rarer  dangers  which  sometimes  invade  men,  and  to 
familiarize  himself  with  disgusting  forms  of  disease,  with 
sounds  of  execration,  and  the  vision  of  violent  death. 

Times  of  heroism  are  generally  times  of  terror,  but  the  day 
never  shines,  in  which  this  element  may  not  work.  The  cir- 
cumstances of  man,  we  say,  are  historically  somewhat  better 
in  this  country,  and  at  this  hour,  than  perhaps  ever  before. 
More  freedom  exists  for  culture.  It  will  not  now  run  against 
an  axe,  at  the  first  step  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  opinion. 
But  whoso  is  heroic,  will  always  find  crises  to  try  his  edge. 
Human  virtue  demands  hei  champions  and  martyrs,  and  the 
trial  of  persecution  always  proceeds.  It  is  but  the  other  day, 
that  the  brave  Lovejoy  gave  his  breast  to  the  bullets  of  a  mob, 
for  the  rights  of  free  speech  and  opinion,  and  died  when  it  was 
better  not  to  live. 

I  see  not  any  road  of  perfect  peace,  which  a  man  can  walk 
but  to  take  counsel  of  his  own  bosom.  Let  him  quit  too  much 
association,  let  him  go  home  much,  and  stablish  himself  in 
those  courses  he  approves.  The  unremitting  retention  of 
simple  and  high  sentiments  in  obscure  duties,  is  hardening  the 
character  to  that  temper  which  will  work  with  honor,  if  need 
be,  in  the  tumult,  or  on  the  scaffold.  Whatever  outrages  have 
happened  to  men,  may  befall  a  man  again  :  and  very  easily  in 
a  republic,  if  there  appear  any  signs  of  a  decay  of  religion. 
Coarse  slander,  fire,  tar  and  feathers,  and  the  gibbet,  the  youth 
may  freely  bring  home  to  his  mind,  and  with  what  sweetness 
Of  temper  he  can,  and  inquire  how  fast  he  can  fix  his  sense  of 
"duty,  braving  such  penalties,  whenever  it  may  please  the  next 


140  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

newspaper,  and  a  sufficient  r  amber  of  his  neighbors  to  pro. 
nounce  his  opinions  incendiary. 

It  may  calm  the  apprehension  of  calamity  in  the  most  sus- 
ceptible heart,  to  see  how  quick  a  bound  nature  has  set  to  the 
utmost  infliction  of  malice.  We  rapidly  approach  a  brink 
over  which  no  enemy  can  follow  us. 

"Let  them  rave: 
Thou  art  quiet  in  thy  grave." 

i  the  gloom  of  our  ignorance  of  what  shall  be,  in  the  houi 
\ilien  we  are  deaf  to  the  higher  voices,  who  does  not  envy 
them  who  have  seen  safely  to  an  end  their  manful  endeavor  ? 
Who  that  sees  the  meanness  of  our  politics,  but  inly  congrat- 
ulates Washington,  that  he  is  long  already  wrapped  in  his 
shroud,  and  forever  safe ;  that  he  was  laid  sweet  in  his  grave, 
the  hope  of  humanity  not  yet  subjugated  in  him?  Who  does 
not  sometimes  envy  the  good  and  brave,  who  are  no  more  to 
Wffer  from  the  tumults  of  the  natural  world,  and  await  with 
jurious  complacency  the  speedy  jerm  of  his  own  conversatio  . 
vith  finite  nature  ?  And  yet  the  love  that  will  be  aiinihilattwi 
Doner  than  treacherous,  has  already  made  death  Impo 
aid  affirms  itself  no  mortal,  but  a  native  of  the  deeps  of  al*** 
•  ?te  sod  inextinguishable 


TOE  OVER-SOUI* 


ftfat  souls  that  of  bis  own  good  life  partakt, 
He  loves  as  his  own  self ;  dear  as  bis  eye 
They  are  to  him  :  He'll  never  them  forsake; 
When  they  shaU  die,  then  God  himself  shall  die 
IHiey  Ilje.  they  live  in  blest  eternity." 

Henry  Afore 

(MB 


ESSAY  IX. 
THE  OVER-SOUL 


is  a  difference  between  one  and  another  hour  of  life, 
In  their  authority  and  subsequent  effect.  Our  faith  comes  in 
moments ;  our  vice  is  habitual.  Yet  is  there  a  depth  in  those 
brief  moments,  which  constrains  us  to  ascribe  more  reality  to 
them  than  to  all  other  experiences.  For  this  reason,  the 
argument,  which  is  always  forthcoming  to  silence  those  who 
conceive  extraordinary  hopes  of  man,  namely,  the  appeal  to 
experience,  is  forever  invalid  and  vain.  A  mightier  hope 
abolishes  despair.  We  give  up  the  past  to  the  objector,  and 
yet  we  hope.  He  must  explain  this  hope.  We  grant  that 
human  life  is  mean ;  but  how  did  we  find  out  that  it  was 
mean  ?  What  is  the  ground  of  this  uneasiness  of  ours ;  of 
this  old  discontent  ?  What  is  the  universal  sense  of  want  and 
ignorance,  but  the  fine  inuendo  by  which  the  great  soul  makes 
its  enormous  claim  ?  Why  do  men  feel  that  the  natural  his- 
tory of  man  has  never  been  written,  but  always  he  is  leaving 
behind  what  you  have  said  of  him,  and  it  becomes  old,  and 
books  of  metaphysics  worthless?  The  philosophy  of  six 
thousand  years  has  not  searched  the  chambers  and  magazines 
of  the  soul.  In  its  experiments  there  has  alwa3rs  remained,  in 
the  last  analysis,  a  residuum  it  could  not  resolve.  Man  is  a 
stream  whose  source  is  hidden.  Always  our  being  is  descend- 
ing into  us  from  we  know  not  whence.  The  most  exact  cal- 
culator has  no  prescience  that  somewhat  incalculable  may  not 
baulk  the  very  next  moment.  I  am  constrained  every  mo- 
ment to  acknowledge  a  higher  origin  for  events  than  the  will  I 
call  mine. 

As  with  events,  so  is  it  with  thoughts.  When  I  watch  that 
flowing  river,  which,  out  of  regions  1  see  not,  pours  for  a 
season  its  streams  into  me, — I  see  th*t  1  am  a  pensioner, — 
not  a  cause,  but  a  surprised  spectator  of  this  ethereal  water  ; 
that  I  desire  and  look  up,  and  put  myself  in  the  attitude  of 
reception,  but  from  some  alien  energy  the  visions  come. 

The  Supreme  Critic  on  all  the  errors  of  the  past  and  thje 
present,  and  the  only  prophet  of  that  which  must  be,  is  that 
great  nature  in  which  we  rest,  as  the  earth  lies  hi  the  soft  arma 


U4  EMERSON  4  ESSA  Y& 

of  the  atmosphere ;  that  Unity,  that  Over-Soul,  within  wiich 
every  man's  particular  being  is  contained  and  made  one  vitb 
all  other ;  that  common  heart,  of  which  all  siucere  conversa- 
tion is  the  worship,  to  which  all  right  action  is  submission ; 
that  overpowering  reality  which  confutes  our  tricks  an!  tal- 
ents, and  constrains  every  one  to  pass  for  what  he  is,  and  to 
speak  from  his  character  and  not  from  his  tongue ;  and  ivhicb 
evermore  tends  and  aims  to  pass  into  our  thought  and  hand, 
and  become  wisdom,  and  virtue,  and  power,  and  beauty.  We 
live  in  succession,  in  division,  in  parts,  in  particles.  Mean- 
time within  man  is  the  soul  of  the  whole ;  the  wise  silence ; 
the  universal  beauty,  to  which  every  part  and  particle  is 
equally  related ;  the  eternal  ONE.  And  this  deep  power  in 
which  we  exist,  and  whose  beatitude  is  all  accessible  to  us,  is 
not  only  self-sufficing  and  perfect  in  every  hour,  but  the  act  of 
seeing,  and  the  thing  seen,  the  seer  and  the  spectacle,  the  sub- 
ject and  the  object,  are  one.  We  see  the  world  piece  by 
piece,  as  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  animal,  the  tree;  but  the 
whole,  of  which  these  are  the  shining  parts,  is  the  soul.  It  is 
only  by  the  vision  of  that  Wisdom,  that  the  horoscope  of  the 
ages  can  be  read,  and  it  is  only  by  falling  back  on  our  better 
thoughts,  by  yielding  to  the  spirit,  of  prophecy  which  is  in- 
nate in  every  man,  that  we  can  know  what  it  saith.  Every 
man's  words,  who  speaks  from  that  life,  must  sound  vain  to 
those  who  do  not  dwell  in  the  same  thought  on  their  own 
part.  I  dare  not  speak  for  it.  My  words  do  not  carry  its 
august  sense;  they  fall  short  and  cold.  Only  itself  can  in- 
spire whom  it  will,  and  behold !  their  speech  shall  be  lyrical, 
and  sweet,  and  universal  as  the  rising  of  the  wind.  Yet  I  de- 
sire, even  by  profane  words,  if  sacred  I  may  not  use,  to  indi- 
cate the  heaven  of  this  deity,  and  to  report  what  hints  I  have 
collected  of  the  transcendent  simplicity  and  energy  of  th« 
Highest  Law. 

If  we  consider  what  happens  in  conversation,  in  reveries,  in 
remorse,  in  times  of  passion,  in  surprises,  in  the  instructions 
of  dreams  wherein  often  we  see  ourselves  in  masquerade, — the 
droll  disguises  only  magnifying  and  enhancing  a  real  element. 
and  forcing  it  on  our  distinct  notice, — w?  shall  satch  many 
hints  that  will  broaden  and  lighten  into  knowledge  of  the 
secret  of  nature.  All  goes  to  show  that  the  soul  in  man  is  not 
an  organ,  but  animates  and  exercises  all  the  organs ;  is  not  a 
function,  like  the  power  of  memory,  of  calculation,  of  com« 
parison, — but  uses  these  as  hands  and  fee*. :  is  net  a  laculty^ 
but  a  light ;  is  not  the  intellect  or  the  will  but  ihe  master  ol 
the  intellect  and  the  will; — is  the  vast  background  of  oa? 


TEE  OVER-SOUL.  Iff 

being,  in  which  they  lie, — an  immensity  not  possessed  and  that 
cannot  be  possessed.  From  within  or  from  behind,  a  light 
shines  through  us  upon  things,  and  makes  us  aware  that  we 
are  nothing,  but  the  light  is  all. — A  man  is  the  fa9ade  of  a 
temple  wherein  all  wisdom  and  all  good  abide.  What  we  com- 
monly  call  man,  the  eating,  drinking,  planting,  counting  man, 
does  not,  as  we  know  him,  represent  himself,  but  misrepre 
ients  himself.  Him  we  do  not  respect,  but  the  soul,  whose  or 
M{an  he  is,  would  he  let  it  appear  through  his  action,  woulc. 
make  our  knees  bend.  When  it  breathes  through  his  intel 
£ct,  it  is  genius ;  when  it  breathes  through  his  will,  it  is  vir 
Sue  ;  when  it  flows  through  his  affection,  it  is  love.  And  the 
Blindness  of  the  intellect  begins,  when  it  would  be  something 
>f  itself.  The  weakness  of  the  will  begins  when  the  individ- 
ual would  be  something  of  himself.  All  reform  aims,  in  some 
Mie  particular,  to  let  the  great  soul  have  its  way  through  us ; 
<n  other  words,  to  engage  us  to  obey. 

Of  this  pure  nature  every  man  is  at  some  time  sensible. 
Language  cannot  paint  it  with  his  colors.  It  is  too  subtle.  It 
«  undelinable,  unmeasureable,  but  we  know  that  it  pervades 
*nd  contains  us.  We  know  that  all  spiritual  being  is  in  man. 
A  wise  old  proverb  says,  "  God  comes  to  see  us  without 
t»ell : "  that  is,  as  there  is  no  screen  or  ceiling  between  our 
leads  and  the  infinite  heavens,  so  is  there  no  bar  or  wall  in  the 
TOU!  where  man,  the  effect,  ceases,  and  God,  the  cause,  begins. 
The  walls  are  taken  away.  We  lie  open  on  one  side  to  the 
leeps  of  spiritual  nature,  to  all  the  attributes  of  God.  Justice 
*e  see  and  know,  Love,  Freedom,  Power.  These  natures  no 
man  ever  got  above,  but  always  they  tower  over  us,  and  most 
«n  the  moment  when  our  interests  tempt  us  to  wound  them. 

Tte  sovereignty  of  this  nature  whereof  we  speak,  is  made 
known  by  its  independency  of  those  limitations  which  circum- 
scribe us  on  every  hand.  The  soul  circumscribeth  all  things. 
As  I  have  said,  it  contradicts  all  experience.  In  like  manner 
it  abolishes  time  and  space.  The  influence  of  the  senses  has, 
in  most  men,  overpowered  the  mind  to  that  degree,  that  the 
walls  of  time  and  space  have  come  to  look  solid,  real  and  in- 
surmountable ;  and  to  speak  with  lenity  of  these  limits,  is,  in 
*he  world,  the  sign  of  insanity.  Yet  time  and  space  are  but 
Inverse  measures  of  the  force  of  the  soul.  A  man  is  capable 
of  abolishing  them  both.  The  spirit  sports  with  time— 

"  Can  crowd  eternity  into  an  hour, 
Or  stretch  an  hour  to  eternity." 

We  are  often  made  to  feel  that  there  is  another  youth  and 


Mi  £ME£SON'S  ESSAYS. 

age  than  that  which  is  measured  from  the  year  of  our  natural 
birth.  Some  thoughts  always  find  us  young  and  keep  us  so, 
Such  a  thought  is  the  love  cf  the  universal  and  eternal 
beauty.  Every  man  parts  from  that  contemplation  with  the 
feeling  that  it  rather  belongs  to  ages  than  to  re  ortal  life.  The 
least  activity  of  the  intellectual  powers  redeems  us  in  a  de- 
gree from  the  influences  of  time.  In  sickness,  in  languor,  give 
us  a  strain  of  poetry  or  a  profound  sentence,  and  we  are  re« 
iresluril ;  or  produce  a  volume  of  Plato,  or  Shakspeare,  or  re- 
mind  us  of  their  names,  and  instantly  we  come  into  a  feeling 
of  longevity.  See  how  the  deep,  divine  thought  demolishes 
centuries,  and  millenniums,  and  makes  itself  present  through 
all  ages.  Is  the  teaching  of  Christ  less  effective  now  than  it 
was  wnen  first  his  mouth  was  opened  ?  The  emphasis  of  facts 
and  persons  to  my  soul  has  nothing  to  do  with  time.  And  so, 
always,  the  soul's  scale  is  one  ;  the  scale  of  the  senses  and  the 
understanding  is  another.  Before  the  great  revelations  of  the 
sou.!,  Time,  Space  and  Nature  shrink  away.  In  common 
speech,  we  refer  all  things  to  time,  as  we  habitually  refer  the 
immensely  sundered  stars  to  one  concave  sphere.  And  so  we 
say  that  the  Judgment  is  distant  or  near,  that  the  Millennium 
approaches,  that  a  day  of  certain  political,  moral,  social  re- 
forms is  at  hand,  and  the  like,  when  we  mean,  that  in  the  na- 
ture of  things,  one  of  the  facts  we  contemplate  is  external  and 
fugitive,  and  the  other  is  permanent  and  connate  with  the  souL 
The  things  we  now  esteem  fixed,  shall,  one  by  one,  detach 
themselves,  like  ripe  fruit,  from  our  experience,  and  fall.  The 
wind  shall  blow  them  none  knows  whither.  The  landscape,  the 
figure,  Boston,  London,  are  facts  as  fugitive  as  any  institution 
past,  or  any  whiff  of  mist  or  smoke,  and  so  is  society,  and  so 
is  the  world.  The  soul  looketh  steadily  forward,  creating  a 
World  alway  before  her,  and  leaving  worlds  alway  behind  her. 
She  has  no  dates,  nor  rites,  nor  persons,  nor  specialties,  nor 
men.  The  soul  knows  only  the  soul.  All  else  is  idle  weeds 
for  her  wearing. 

After  its  own  law  and  not  by  arithmetic  is  the  rate  of  its 
progress  to  be  computed.  The  soul's  advances  are  not  made 
by  gradation,  such  as  can  be  represented  by  motion  in  a 
straight  lin  ;  but  rather  by  ascension  of  state,  such  as  can  be 
represented  b^  metamorphosis, — from  the  egg  to  the  worm, 
from  the  worm  to  the  fly.  The  growths  of  genius  are  of  a  cer 
tain  total  character,  that  does  not  advance  the  elect  individual 
firs*,  over  John,  then  Adam,  then  Richard,  and  give  to  each 
the  pain  of  discovered  inferiority,  but  by  every  throe  of  growth, 
the  man  expands  there  where  he  works,  passing,  at  each  pulse. 


TBB  OVER-SOUL  If} 

tion,  classes,  populations  of  men.  With  each  divine  impulse 
the  mind  rends  the  thin  rinds  of  the  visible  and  finite,  and 
comes  out  into  eternity,  and  inspires  and  expires  its  air.  It 
converses  with  truths  that  have  always  been  spoken  in  the 
world,  and  becomes  conscious  of  a  closer  sympathy  with  Zeno 
and  Arrian,  than  with  persons  in  the  house. 

This  is  the  law  of  moral  and  of  mental  gain.  The  simple 
rise  as  by  specific  levity,  not  into  a  particular  virtue,  but  into 
the  region  of  all  the  virtues.  They  are  in  the  spirit  whicl 
contains  them  all.  The  soul  is  superior  to  all  the  particulars 
of  merit.  The  soul  requires  purity,  but  purity  is  not  it ;  re 
quires  justice,  but  justice  is  not  that ;  requires  beneficence, 
but  is  somewhat  better  :  so  that  there  is  a  kind  of  descent  and 
accommodation  felt  when  we  leave  speaking  of  moral  nature, 
to  urge  a  virtue  which  it  enjoins.  For,  to  the  soul  in  her  pure 
action,  all  the  virtues  are  natural,  and  not  painfully  acquired. 
Speak  to  his  heart,  and  the  man  bee  ^mes  suddenly  virtuous. 

Within  the  same  sentiment  is  the  germ  of  intellectual 
growth,  which  obeys  the  same  law.  Those  who  are  capable 
of  humility,  of  justice,  of  love,  of  aspiration,  are  already  on  a 
platform  that  commands  the  sciences  and  arts,  speech  and 
poetry,  action  and  grace.  For  whoso  dwells  in  this  moral 
beatitude,  does  already  anticipate  those  special  powers  which 
men  prize  so  highly  ;  just  as  love  does  justice  to  all  the  gifts 
of  the  object  beloved.  The  lover  has  no  talent,  no  skill,  which 
passes  for  quite  nothing  with  his  enamored  maiden,  however 
little  she  may  possess  of  related  faculty.  And  the  heart, 
which  abandons  itself  to  the  Supreme  Mind,  finds  itself  related 
to  all  its  works  and  will  travel  a  royal  road  to  particular 
knowledges  and  powers.  For,  in  ascending  to  this  primary 
and  aboriginal  sentiment,  we  have  come  from  our  remote 
station  on  the  circumference  instantaneously  to  the  centre  of 
the  world,  where,  as  in  the  closet  of  God,  we  see  causes,  anc 
anticipate  the  universe,  which  is  but  a  slow  effect. 

One  mode  of  the  divine  teaching  is  the  incarnation  of  the 
spirit  in  a  form, — in  forms,  like  my  own,  I  live  in  society ; 
with  persons  who  answer  to  thoughts  in  my  own  mind,  or  out- 
wardly express  to  me  a  certain  obedience  to  the  great  instincts 
to  which  I  live.  I  see  its  presence  to  them.  I  am  certified  of 
a  common  nature;  and  so  these  other  souls, these  serrated 
selves,  draw  me  as  nothing  else  can.  They  stir  in  me  tb  new 
emotions  we  call  passion;  of  love,  hatred,  fear,  admire : ion, 
pity;  thence  comes  conversation,  competition,  persuasion 
cities,  and  war.  Persons  are  supplementary  to  ihe  primary 
teaching  of  the  soul  to  ywtfc  we  are  road  for 


i.4*  £ME£SON'-S  ESSAY*. 

Ohiidhooti  and  youth  see  all  the  world  in  them.  But  the 
larger  experience  of  man  discovers  the  indentical  nature  appear- 
ing through  them  all.  Persons  themselves  acquaint  us  with 
the  impersonal.  In  all  conversation  between  two  persons,  tacit 
reference  is  made  as  to  a  third  party,  to  a  common  nature. 
That  third  party  or  common  nature  is  not  social ;  it  is  imper- 
sonal ;  is  God.  And  so  in  groups  where  debate  is  earnest,  and 
especially  on  great  questions  of  thought,  the  company  become 
dware  of  their  unity  ;  aware  that  the  thought  rises  to  an  equal 
height  in  all  bosoms,  that  all  have  a  spiritual  property  in  what 
was  said,  as  well  as  the  sayer.  They  all  wax  wiser  than  they 
were.  It  arches  over  them  like  a  temple,  thic  unity  of  thought, 
in  which  every  heart  beats  with  nobler  sense  of  power  and 
duty,  and  thinks  and  acts  with  unusual  solemnity.  All  are  con- 
scious of  attaining  to  a  higher  self-possesssion.  It  shines  for 
all.  There  is  a  certain  wisdom  of  humanity  which  is  common 
to  the  greatest  men  with  the  lowest,  and  which  our  ordinary 
education  often  labors  to  silence  and  obstruct.  The  mind  is 
one,  and  the  best  minds  who  love  truth  for  its  own  sake,  think 
much  less  of  property  in  truth.  Thankfully  they  accept  it 
everywhere,  and  do  not  label  or  stamp  it  with  any  man's  name, 
for  it  is  theirs  long  beforehand.  It  is  theirs  from  eternity. 
The  learned  and  the  studious  of  thought  have  no  monopoly  of 
wisdom.  Their  violence  of  direction  in  some  degree  disquali* 
ties  them  to  think  truly.  We  owe  many  valuable  observa- 
tions to  people  who  are  not  very  acute  or  profound,  and  who 
say  the  thing  without  effort,  which  we  want  and  have  long  been 
hunting  in  vain.  The  action  of  the  soul  is  oftener  in  that 
which  is  felt  and  left  unsaid,  than  in  that  which  is  said  in  any 
conversation.  It  broods  over  every  society,  and  they  uncon« 
-piously  seek  for  it  in  each  other.  We  know  better  than  we 
lo.  We  do  not  yet  possess  ourselves,  and  we  know  at  the 
jame  time  that  we  are  much  more,  I  feel  the  same  truth  how 
often  in  my  trivial  conversation  with  my  neighbors,  that  some- 
what higher  _.  each  of  us  overlooks  this  by-play,  and  Jove  nodi 

.t  Jove  from  behind  each  of  ua 

-en  descend  to  meet.    In  their  habitual  and  mean  service 
io  the  world,  for  which  they  forsake  their  native  nobleness, 

/  v  resemble   those  Arabian  Sheikhs,  who  dwell  in  mean 

_,;:scs  and  ui "    '   an  external  poverty,  to  escape  the  rapaci  , 
•^  the  Pacha,  :  -:\  reserve  all  their  display  of  wealta  for  theil 

•'•""nor  and  guarded  retirements. 

__,  it  is  presuut  in  all  persons,  so  it  is  in  every  penoo  of'lii  •, 

_".  adult  uliviady  in  the  infant  man.     In  my  dea»h,{>  -with  roj 

av  Latin  «vnd  GreeK,  cu.v  accomplishiu*. ;s  L  aiia    -I 


THE  OVER-SOUL.  140 

money,  stead  ine  nothing.  They  are  all  lost  on  him :  but  as 
much  soul  as  I  have,  avails.  If  I  am  merely  wilful,  he  gives 
me  a  Rowland  for  an  Oliver,  sets  his  will  against  mine,  one 
for  one,  and  leaves  me,  if  T  please,  the  degradation  of  beating 
him  by  my  superiority  of  strength.  But  if  I  renounce  my 
will,  and  act  for  the  soul,  setting  that  up  as  umpire  between 
us  two,  out  of  his  young  eyes  looks  the  same  soul  •,  he  reveres 
and  loves  with  me. 

The  soul  is  the  perceiver  and  revealer  of  truth.  We  know 
truth  when  we  see  it,  let  skeptic  and  scoffer  say  what  they 
choose.  Foolish  people  ask  you,  when  you  have  spoken  what 
they  do  not  wish  to  hear, *  How  do  you  know  it  is  truth,  and 
not  an  error  of  your  own  ? '  We  know  truth  when  we  see  it, 
from  opinion,  as  we  know  when  we  are  awake  that  we  are 
awake.  It  was  a  grand  sentence  of  Emanuel  Swedenborg, 
which  would  alone  indicate  the  greatness  of  that  man's  percep- 
tion,— "  It  is  no  proof  of  a  man's  understanding  to  be  ab-e  to 
affirm  whatever  he  pleases,  but  to  be  able  to  discern  that  what  is 
true  is  true,  and  that  what  is  false  is  false,  this  is  the  mark 
and  character  of  intelligence."  In  the  book  I  read,  the  good 
thought  returns  to  me,  as  every  truth  will,  the  image  of  the 
whole  soul.  To  the  bad  thought  which  I  find  in  it,  the  same 
soul  becomes  a  discerning,  separating  sword  and  lops  it  away. 
We  are  wiser  than  W3  know.  If  we  will  not  interfere  with 
our  thought,  but  will  act  entirely,  or  see  how  the  thing  stands 
in  God,  we  know  the  particular  thing,  and  every  thing,  and 
every  man.  For,  the  Maker  of  all  things  and  all  persons, 
stands  behind  us,  and  casts  his  dread  omniscience  through  us 
over  things. 

But  beyond  this  recognition  of  its  own  in  particular  pas- 
sages of  the  individual's  experience,  it  also  reveals  truth. 
And  here  we  should  seek  to  reinforce  ourselves  by  its  very 
presence,  and  to  speak  with  a  worthier,  loftier  strain  of  that 
advent.  For  the  soul's  communication  of  truth  is  the  highest 
event  in  nature,  for  it  then  does  not  give  somewhat  from  it- 
aelf,  but  it  gives  itself,  or  passes  into  and  becomes  that  man 
whom  it  enlightens  ;  or  in  proportion  to  that  truth  he  receives, 
It  takes  him  to  itself. 

We  distinguish  the  announcements  of  the  soul,  its  manifes- 
tations of  its  own  nature,  by  the  term  Revelation,  These  are 
always  attended  by  the  emotion  of  the  sublime.  For  this 
communication  is  an  influx  of  the  Divine  mind  into  our  mind. 
It  is  an  ebb  of  the  individual  rivulet  before  the  flowing  surges 
of  the  sea  of  life  Every  distinct  apprehension  of  this  i 
commandment  agitates  men  with  awe  and  doligUt  A  thritt 


150  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS, 

passes  througii  all  men  at  the  reception  of  new  truth,  or  at 
the  performance  of  a  great  action,  which  comes  out  of  the 
heart  of  nature.  In  these  communications,  the  power  to  see, 
is  not  separated  from  the  will  to  do,  but  the  insight  proceeds 
from  obedience,  and  the  obedience  proceeds  from  a  joyful  per- 
ception. Every  moment  when  the  individual  feels  himself  in- 
vaded by  it,  is  memorable.  Always,  I  believe,  by  the  neces^ 
sity  of  our  constitution,  a  certain  enthusiasm  attends  the  in- 
dividual's consciousness  of  that  divine  presence.  The  char 
acter  and  duration  of  this  enthusiasm  varies  with  the  state  of 
the  individual,  from  an  ecstasy  and  trance  and  prophetic  in- 
spiration— which  is  its  rarer  appearance,  to  the  faintest  glow 
of  virtuous  emotion,  in  which  form  it  warms,  like  our  house- 
hold fires,  all  the  families  and  associations  of  men,  and  makes 
society  possible.  A  certain  tendency  to  insanity  has  always 
attended  the  opening  of  the  religious  sense  in  men,  as  if 
"  blasted  with  excess  of  light."  The  trances  of  Socrates  ;  the 
"  union  "  of  Plotinus ;  the  vision  of  Porphyry  ;  the  conver- 
sion of  Paul ;  the  aurora  of  Behmen  ;  the  convulsions  of 
George  Fox  and  his  Quakers ;  the  illumination  of  Sweden, 
borg ;  are  of  this  kind.  What  was  in  the  case  of  these  re- 
markable  persons  a  ravishment,  has,  in  innumerable  instances 
in  common  life,  been  exhibited  in  less  striking  manner.  Every, 
where  the  history  of  religion  betrays  a  tendency  to  enthusi- 
asm. The  rapture  of  the  Moravian  and  Quietist ;  the  open- 
ing of  the  internal  sense  of  the  Word,  in  the  language  of  the 
New  Jerusalem  Church  ;  the  revival  of  the  Calvinistic 
Churches ;  the  experiences  of  the  Methodists,  are  varying 
forms  of  that  shudder  of  awe  and  delight  with  which  the  indi- 
vidual soul  always  mingles  with  the  universal  soul. 

The  nature  of  these  revelations  is  always  the  same  :  they 
are  perceptions  of  the  absolute  law.  They  are  solutions  of 
the  soul's  own  questions.  They  do  not  answer  the  questions 
which  the  understanding  asks.  The  soul  answers  never  by 
words,  but  by  the  thing  itself  that  is  inquired  after. 

Revelation  is  the  disclosure  of  the  soul  The  popular  no- 
tion of  a  revelation,  is,  that  it  is  a  telling  of  fortunes.  In 
past  oracles  of  the  soul,  the  understanding  seeks  to  find  an- 
swers  to  sensual  questions,  and  undertakes  to  tell  from  God 
how  long  men  shall  exist,  what  their  hands  shall  do,  and  who 
shall  be  their  company,  adding  even  names,  and  dates  and 
places.  But  we  must  pick  no  locks.  We  must  check  this 
low  curiosity.  An  answer  in  words  is  delusive ;  it  is  really 
no  answer  to  the  questions  you  ask.  Do  not  ask  a  description 
of  the  countries  toward*  jwbich  you  sail.  The  description 


fHE  OVER-SOUL.  |g| 

does  not  describe  them  to  you,  and  to-morrow  you  arrive 
there,  and  know  them  by  inhabiting  them.  Men  ask  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  employments  of  heaven,  and 
the  state  of  the  sinner,  and  so  forth.  They  even  dream  that 
Jesus  has  left  replies  to  precisely  these  interrogatories. 
Never  a  moment  did  that  sublime  spirit  speak  in  their  patois, 
To  truth,  justice,  love,  the  attributes  of  the  soul,  the  idea  of 
'mmutableness  is  essentially  associated.  Jesus,  living  in 
,hese  moral  sentiments,  heedless  of  sensual  fortunes,  heeding 
only  the  manifestations  of  these,  never  made  the  separation 
of  the  idea  of  duration  from  the  essence  of  these  attributes; 
never  uttered  a  syllable  concerning  the  duration  of  the  souL 
It  was  left  to  his  disciples  to  sever  duration  from  the  moral 
elements  and  to  teach  the  immortality  of  the  soul  as  a  doo- 
trine,  and  maintain  it  by  evidences.  The  moment  the  doc- 
trine of  the  immortality  is  separately  taught,  man  is  already 
fallen.  In  the  flowing  of  love,  in  the  adoration  of  humility, 
there  is  no  question  of  continuance.  No  inspired  man  ever 
asks  this  question,  or  condescends  to  these  evidences.  For~| 
the  soul  is  true  to  itself,  and  the  man  in  whom  it  is  shed  1 
abroad,  cannot  wander  from  the  present,  which  is  infinite,  to  a  j 
future,  which  would  be  finite. 

These  questions  which  we  lust  to  ask  about  the  future,  are 
a  confession  of  sin.  God  has  no  answer  for  them.  No  an- 
swer in  words  can  reply  to  a  question  of  things.  It  is  not  in 
an  arbitrary  "  decree  of  God,"  but  in  the  nature  of  man  that 
a  veil  shuts  down  on  the  facts  of  to-morrow  :  for  the  soul  will 
not  have  us  read  any  other  cipher  but  that  of  cause  and  effect. 
By  this  veil,  which  curtains  events,  it  instructs  the  children 
of  men  to  live  in  to-day.  The  only  mode  of  obtaining  an  an- 
swer to  these  questions  of  the  senses,  is,  to  forego  all  low 
curiosity,  and,  accepting  the  tide  of  being  which  floats  us  into 
the  secret  of  nature,  work  and  live,  work  and  live,  and  all  un-T 
wares,  the  advancing  soul  has  built  and  forged  for  itself  a  \ 
lew  condition,  and  the  question  and  the  answer  are  one.  — 1 

Thus  is  the  soul  the  perceiver  and  revealer  of  truth.  By 
the  same  fire,  serene,  impersonal,  perfect,  which  burns  until  it 
shall  dissolve  all  things  into  the  waves  and  surges  of  an 
ocean  of  light, — we  see  and  know  each  other,  and  what  spirit 
each  is  of.  Who  can  tell  the  grounds  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
character  of  the  several  individuals  in  his  circle  of  friends? 
No  man.  Yet  their  acts  and  words  do  not  disappoint  him.  In 
that  man,  though  he  knew  no  ill  of  him,  he  put  no  trust.  In 
that  other,  though  they  had  seldom  met,  authentic  signs  had 
yet  passed,  to  signAfy  that  he  might  be  trasted  as  one  who 


!fi2  JSMEESON'8  ES8AW&. 

had  an  interest  in  his  own  character.  We  know  each  other 
very  well, — which  of  us  has  been  just  to  himself,  and  whethei 
that  which  we  teach  or  behold,  is  only  an  aspiration,  or  ia 
our  honest  effort  also. 

We  are  all  discerners  of  spirits.  That  diagnosis  lies  aloft  in 
our  life  or  unconscious  power,  not  in  the  understanding.  The 
whole  intercourse  of  society,  its  trade,  its  religion,  its  friend 
ships,  its  quarrels, — is  one  wide,  judicial  investigation  cl  char- 
acter. In  full  court,  or  in  small  committee,  or  confronted  face 
to  face,  accuser  and  accused,  men  offer  themselves  to  be 
judged.  Against  their  will  they  exhibit  those  decisive  trifles 
by  which  character  is  read.  But  who  judges  ?  and  what  ? 
Kot  our  understanding.  We  do  not  read  them  b}T  learning  or 
craft.  No ;  the  wisdom  of  the  wise  man  consists  herein,  that 
he  does  not  judge  them  ;  he  lets  them  judge  themselves,  and 
merely  reads  and  records  their  own  verdict. 

By  virtue  of  this  inevitable  nature,  private  will  is  overpow- 
ered, and,  maugre  our  efforts,  or  our  imperfections,  your 
genius  will  speak  from  you,  and  mine  from  me.  That  which 
we  are,  we  shall  teach,  not  voluntarily,  but  involuntarily. 
Thoughts  come  into  our  minds  by  avenues  which  we  never  left 
open,  and  thoughts  go  out  el  our  minds  through  avenues 
which  we  never  voluntarily  opened.  Character  teaches  over 
our  head.  The  infallible  index  of  true  progress  is  found  in  the 
tone  the  man  takes.  Neither  his  age,  nor  his  breeding,  nor 
company,  nor  books,  nor  actions,  nor  talents,  nor  all  together, 
can  hinder  him  from  being  deferential  to  a  higher  spirit  than 
his  own.  If  he  have  not  found  his  home  in  God,  his  manners, 
his  forms  of  speech,  the  turn  of  his  sentences,  the  build,  shall 
I  say,  of  all  his  opinions  will  involuntarily  confess  it,  let  him 
brave  it  out  how  he  will  If  he  have  found  his  centre,  the 
Deity  will  shine  through  him,  through  all  the  disguises  of  ig- 
norance, of  ungenial  temperament,  of  unfavorable  circum- 
stance. The  tone  of  seeking,  is  one,  and  the  tone  of  having  is 
another. 

The  great  distinction  between  teachers,  sacred  or  literary 
between  poets  like  Herbert,  and  poets  like  Pope ;  between 
philosophers  like  Spinoza,  Kant,  and  Coleridge,— and  philoso- 
phers like  Locke,  Paley,  Mackintosh,  and  Stewart ;  between 
men  of  the  world  who  are  reckoned  accomplished  talkers,  and 
here  and  there  a  fervent  mystic,  prophesying  half-insane  under 
the  infinitude  of  his  thought,  is,  that  one  class  speak  from 
within,  or  from  experience,  as  parties  and  possessors  of  the 
feet ;  and  the  other  class,  from,  without,  as  spectators  merely, 
or  perhaps  as  acquainted  with  the  fact,  on  the  evidence  ctf 


fBK  OVER-SOUL.  UB 

third  persons.  It  is  of  no  use  to  preach  to  me  from  without. 
I  can  do  that  too  easily  myself.  Jesus  speaks  always  from 
within,  and  in  a  degree  that  transcends  all  others.  In'that.  ia 
the  miracle.  That  includes  the  miracle.  My  soul  believes  be« 
forehand  that  it  ought  so  to  be.  All  men  stand  continually  in 
the  expectation  of  the  appearance  of  such  a  teacher.  But'if  a 
man  do  not  speak  from  within  the  veil,  where  the  word  is  one 
with  that  it  tells  of,  let  him  lowly  confess  it. 

The  same  Omniscience  flows  into  the  intellect,  and  makes 
what  we  call  genius.  Much  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world  is  not 
wisdom,  and  the  most  illuminated  class  of  men  are  no  doubt 
superior  to  literary  fame,  and  are  not  writers  Among  the 
multitude  of  scholars  and  authors,  we  feel  no  hallowing  pres- 
ence ;  we  are  sensible  of  a  knack  and  skill  rather  than  of  in- 
spiration  ;  they  have  a  light,  and  know  not  whence  it  comes, 
and  call  it  their  OWR  :  their  talent  is  some  exaggerated  faculty, 
some  overgrown  member,  so  that  their  strength  is  a  disease. 
In  these  instances,  the  intellectual  gifts  do  not  make  the  im- 
pression  of  virtue,  but  almost  of  vice  ;  and  we  feel  that  a  man's 
talents  stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  in  truth.  But 
genius  is  religious.  It  is  a  larger  imbibing  of  the  common 
heart.  It  is  not  anomalous,  but  more  like,  and  not  less  like 
other  men.  There  is  in  all  great  poets,  a  wisdom  of  humanity, 
which  is  superior  to  any  talents  they  exercise.  The  author, 
the  wit,  the  partisan,  the  fine  gentleman,  does  not  take  place 
of  the  man.  Humanity  shines  in  Homer,  in  Chaucer,  in  Spen- 
ser, in  Shakspeare,  in  Milton.  They  are  content  with  truth. 
They  use  the  positive  degree.  They  seem  frigid  and  phleg- 
matic to  those  who  have  been  spiced  with  the  frantic  passion 
and  violent  coloring  of  inferior,  but  popular  writers.  For,  they 
are  poets  by  the  free  course  which  they  allow  to  the  informing 
soul,  which,  though  their  eye  beholdeth  again,  and  blesseth 
the  things  which  it  hath  made.  The  soul  is  superior  to  its 
knowledge ;  wiser  than  any  of  its  works.  The  great  poet 
makes  us  feel  our  own  wealth,  and  then  we  think  less  of  his 
compositions.  His  greatest  communication  to  our  mind,  is,  to 
teach  us  to  despise  all  he  has  done.  Shakspeare  carries  us 
to  such  a  lofty  strain  of  intelligent  activity,  as  to  suggest  a 
wealth  which  beggars  his  own ;  and  we  then  feel  that  the 
splendid  works  which  he  has  created,  and  which  in  other 
hours,  we  extol  as  a  sort  of  self-existent  poetry,  take  no 
stronger  hold  of  real  nature  than  the  shadow  of  a  passing 
traveller  on  the  rock.  The  inspiration  which  uttered  itself  in 
Hamlet  and  Lear,  could  utter  things  as  good  from  day  to  day, 
forever.  Why  then  should  I  make  account  of  Hamlet  and 


m  EMERSON'S  E88AT8. 

Lear,  at  if  we  had  not  the  soul  from  which  they  fell  as  syl 
lables  from  the  tongue  ? 

This  energy  does  not  descend  into  individual  life,  on  any 
other  condition  than  entire  possession.  It  comes  to  the  lowly 
and  simple ;  it  comes  to  whomsoever  will  put  off  what  is  foreign 
and  proud  ;  it  comes  as  insight :  it  comes  as  serenity  and 
grandeur.  When  we  see  those  whom  it  inhabits,  we  are  ap« 
prised  of  new  degrees  of  greatness.  From  that  inspiration  the 
man  comes  back  with  a  changed  tone.  He  does  not  talk  with 
<aaen,  with  an  eye  to  their  opinion.  He  tries  them.  It  re- 
quires of  us  to  be  plain  and  true.  The  vain  traveller  attempts 
to  embellish  his  life  by  quoting  my  Lord,  and  the  Prince,  and 
the  Countess,  who  thus  said  or  did  to  him.  The  ambitious 
vulgar,  show  you  their  spoons,  and  brooches,  and  rings,  and 
preserve  their  cards  and  compliments.  The  more  cultivated, 
in  their  account  of  their  own  experience,  cull  out  the  pleasing 
poetic  circumstance  ;  the  visit  to  Rome ;  the  man  of  genius 
they  saw ;  the  brilliant  friend  they  know  ;  still  further  on, 
perhaps,  the  gorgeous  landscape,  the  mountain  lights,  the 
mountain  thoughts,  they  enjoyed  yesterda}', — and  so  seek  to 
throw  a  romantic  color  over  their  life.  But  the  soul  that  as« 
cendeth  to  worship  the  great  God,  is  plain  and  true  ;  has  no 
lose  color  ;  no  fine  friends ;  no  chivalry  ;  no  adventures  ;  does 
Hot  want  admiration ;  dwells  in  the  hour  that  now  is,  in  the 
earnest  experience  of  the  common  day, — by  reason  of  the  pres- 
ent moment,  and  the  mere  trifle  having  become  porous  to 
thought,  and  bibulous  of  the  sea  of  light. 

Converse  with  a  mind  that  is  grandly  simple,  and  literature 
looks  like  word-catching.  The  simplest  utterances  are  worthi- 
est to  be  written,  yet  are  they  so  cheap,  and  so  things  of 
course,  that  in  the  infinite  riches  of  the  soul,  it  is  like  gather- 
ing  a  few  pebbles  off  the  ground,  or  bottling  a  little  air  in  a 
phial,  when  the  whole  earth,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  are 
ours.  The  mere  author,  in  such  society,  is  like  a  pickpocket 
among  gentlemen,  who  has  come  in  to  steal  a  gold  button  or  a 
pin.  Nothing  can  pass  there,  or  make  you  one  of  the  circle, 
but  the  casting  aside  your  trappings,  and  dealing  man  to  man 
in  naked  truth,  plain  confession  and  omniscient  affirmation. 

Souls,  such  as  these,  treat  you  as  gods  would ;  walk  as  godi 
in  the  earth,  accepting  without  any  admiration,  your  wit,  your 
bounty,  your  virtue,  even,  say  rather  your  act  of  duty,  for 
your  virtue  they  own  as  their  proper  blood,  royal  as  them- 
selves,  and  over-royal,  and  the  father  of  the  gods.  But  what 
rebuke  their  plain  fraternal  bearing  casts  on  the  mutual  flat 
fcery  with  which  authors  solace  each  other,  and  wound 


THE  OVER-SOUL.  106 

selves  I  T  aese  flatter  not.  I  do  not  wonder  that  these  men 
go  to  see  Crou.well,  and  Christina,  and  Charles  II.,and  James 
I.,  and  the  Grand  Turk.  For  they  are  in  their  own  elevation, 
the  fellows  of  kings,  and  must  feel  the  servile  tone  of  conver- 
sation in  the  world.  They  must  always  be  a  godsend  to 
prmces,  for  they  confront  them,  a  king  to  a  king,  without 
ducking  or  concession,  and  give  a  high  nature  the  refreshment 
and  satisfaction  of  resistance,  of  plain  humanity,  of  even  com- 
panionship, and  of  new  ideas.  They  leave  them  wiser  and 
superior  men.  Souls  like  these  make  us  feel  that  sincerity  is 
more  excellent  than  flattery.  Deal  so  plainly  with  man  and 
woman,  as  to  constrain  the  utmost  sincerity,  and  destroy  all 
"aope  of  trifling  with  you.  It  is  the  highest  compliment  you 
can  pay.  Their  "  highest  praising,"  said  Milton,  "  is  not  flat- 
fery,  and  their  plainest  advice  is  a  kind  of  praising." 

Ineffable  is  the  union  of  man  and  God  in  every  act  of  the 
soul.  The  simplest  person,  who  in  his  integrity  worships 
God,  becomes  God ;  yet  forever  and  ever  the  influx  of  this 
better  and  universal  self  is  new  and  unsearchable.  Ever  it 
inspires  awe  and  astonishment.  How  dear,  how  soothing  to 
man,  arises  the  idea  of  God,  peopling  the  lonely  place,  effacing 
the  scars  of  our  mistakes  and  disappointments  1  When  we 
have  broken  our  god  of  tradition,  and  ceased  from  our  god  of 
rhetoric,  then  may  God  fire  the  heart  with  his  presence.  It  is 
the  doubling  of  the  heart  itself,  nay,  the  infinite  enlargement 
of  the  heart  with  a  power  of  growth  to  a  new  infinity  on 
every  side.  It  inspires  in  man  an  infallible  trust.  He  has  not 
the  conviction,  but  the  sight  that  the  best  is  the  true,  and 
jinay  in  that  thought  easily  dismiss  all  particular  uncertainties 
and  fears,  and  adjourn  to  the  sure  revelation  of  time,  the 
solution  of  his  private  riddles.  He  is  sure  that  his  welfare  is 
dear  to  the  heart  of  being.  In  the  presence  of  law  to  his 
mind,  he  is  overflowed  with  a  reliance  so  universal,  that  it 
sweeps  away  all  cherished  hopes  and  the  most  stable  projects 
of  mortal  condition  in  its  flood.  He  believes  that  he  cannot 
escape  from  his  good.  The  things  that  are  really  for  thee, 
gravitate  to  thee.  You  are  running  to  seek  your  friend.  Let 
your  feet  run,  but  your  mind  need  not.  If  you  do  not  find 
him,  will  you  not  acquiesce  that  it  is  best  you  should  not  find 
him?  for  there  is  a  power,  which,  as  it  is  in  you,  is  in  him 
also,  and  could  therefore  very  well  bring  you  together,  if  it 
were  for  the  best.  You  are  p:  sparing  with  eagerness  to  go 
and  render  a  service  to  which  your  talent  and  your  taste  in- 
vite you,  the  love  of  men,  and  the  hope  of  feme.  Has  it  not 
occurred  to  you,  that  you  have  no  right  to  go,  unless  you  an 


166  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

equally  willing  to  be  prevented  from  going  ?  O  believe,  as 
thou  livest,  that  every  sound  that  is  spoken  over  the  round 
world,  which  thou  oughtest  to  hear,  will  vibrate  on  thine  ear 
Every  proverb,  every  book,  every  by-word  that  belongs  to  thee 
:br  aid  or  comfort,  shall  sure!}'  come  home  through  open  or 
winding  passages.  Every  friend  whom  not  thy  fantastic  will, 
but  the  great  and  tender  heart  in  thee  craveth,  shall  lock  thee 
in  his  embrace.  And  this,  because  the  heart  in  thee  is  the 
heart  of  all ;  not  a  valve,  not  a  wall,  not  an  intersection  is  there 
any  where  in  nature,  but  one  blood  rolls  uninterruptedly,  an 
endless  circulation  through  all  men,  as  the  water  of  the  globe 
is  all  one  sea,  and,  truly  seen,  its  tide  is  one. 

Let  man  then  learn  the  revelation  of  all  nature,  and  all 
thought  to  his  heart ;  this,  namely ;  that  the  Highest  dwells 
with  him ;  that  the  sources  of  nature  are  in  his  own  mind,  if 
the  sentiment  of  duty  is  there.  But  if  he  would  know  what 
the  great  God  speaketh,  he  must '  go  into  his  closet  and  shut 
the  door,'  as  Jesus  said.  God  will  not  make  himself  manifest  to 
cowards.  He  must  greatly  listen  to  himself,  withdrawing  him- 
se'f  from  all  accents  of  other  men's  devotion.  Their  prayers 
even  are  hurtful  to  him,  until  he  have  made  his  own.  The 
soul  makes  no  appeal  from  itself.  Our  religion  vulgarly 
stands  on  numbers  of  believers.  Whenever  the  appeal  is 
inade, — no  matter  how  indirectly, — to  numbers,  proclamation 
to  then  and  there  made,  that  religion  is  not.  He  that  finds 
God  a  sweet,  enveloping  thought  to  him,  never  counts  his 
company.  When  I  sit  in  that  presence,  who  shall  dare  to 
come  in?  When  I  rest  in  perfect  humility,  when  I  burn  with 
pure  love, — what  can  Calvin  or  S  \vedenborg  say  ? 

It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  appeal  is  to  numbers  or 
to  one.  The  faith  that  stands  on  authority  is  not  faith.  The] 
reliance  on  authority,  measures  the  decline  of  religion,  the! 
withdrawal  of  the  soul.  The  position  men  have  given  to 
Jesus,  now  for  many  centuries  of  history,  is  a  position  of 
authority.  It  characterizes  themselves.  It  cannot  alter  the 
eternal  facts.  Great  is  the  soul,  and  plain.  It  is  no  flatterer, 
it  is  no  follower;  it  never  appeals  from  itself.  It  always  be- 
lieves  in  itself.  Before  the  immense  possibilities  of  man,  all 
CM- re  experience,  all  past  biography,  however  spotless  and 
.  shrinks  away  Before  that  holy  heaven  which  our 
f •-•••'si-ntiments  foreshow  us,  we  cannot  easily  praise  any  form 
of  lift.-  we  have  seen  or  read  of.  We  not  only  affirm  that  we 
-w  great  men,  but  absolutely  speaking,  that  we  bave 
none ,  that  we  have  no  history,  no  record  of  any  character  or 
mode  of  living,  that  entirely  contents  us.  The  saints  nod 


THE  OVER-SOUL.  181 

demigods  whom  history  worships,  we  are  constrained  to  ac- 
cept with  a  grain  of  allowance.  Though  in  our  lonely  hours, 
we  draw  a  new  strength  out  of  their  memory,  yet  pressed  on 
our  attention,  as  they  are  by  the  thoughtless  and  customary, 
they  fatigue  and  invade.  The  soul  gives  itself  alone,  original, 
and  pure,  to  the  Lonely,  Original  and  Pure,  who,  on  that  con- 
dition, gladly  inhabits,  leads,  and  speaks  through  it.  Then  is 
it  glad,  young,  and  nimble.  It  is  not  wise,  but  it  sees  through 
all  things.  It  is  not  called  religious,  but  it  is  innocent.  lii 
calls  the  light  its  own,  and  feels  that  the  grass  grows,  and  tin  I 
stone  falls  by  a  law  inferior  to,  and  dependent  on  its  nature. 
Behold,  it  saith,  I  am  born  into  the  great,  the  universal  mind. 
I  the  imperfect,  adore  my  own  Perfect.  I  am  somehow  re- 
ceptive of  the  great  soul,  and  thereby  I  do  overlook  the  sun 
and  the  stars,  and  feel  them  to  be  but  the  fair  accidents  and 
effects  which  change  and  pass.  More  and  more  the  surges  of 
everlasting  nature  enter  into  me,  and  I  become  public  and 
human  in  my  regards  and  actions.  So  come  I  to  live  in 
thoughts,  and  act  with  energies  which  are  immortal.  Thus 
revering  the  soul,  and  learning,  as  the  ancient  said,  that  u  its 
beauty  is  immense,"  man  will  come  to  see  that  the  world  is 
the  perennial  miracle  which  the  soul  worketh,  and  be  less  as- 
tonished at  particular  wonders  ;  he  will  learn  that  there  is  no 
profane  history ;  that  all  history  is  sacred  ;  that  the  universe' 
is  represented  in  an  atom,  in  a  moment  of  time.  He  will 
weave  no  longer  a  spotted  life  of  shreds  and  patches,  but  ho 
will  live  with  a  divine  unity.  He  will  cease  from  what  is  base 
and  frivolous  in  his  own  life,  and  be  content  with  all  places 
and  any  service  he  can  render.  He  will  calmly  front  the  moi- 
row  in  the  negligency  of  that  trust  which  carries  God  with  it, 
•and  so  hath  already  the  whole  future  in  the  bottom  of  his 

taut 


ESS  AY  X. 
CIRCLES. 


THE  eye  IB  the  first  circle ;  the  horizon  which  K,  forms  la 
the  second  ;  and  throughout  nature  this  primary  rgure  is  re* 
iCated  without  end.  It  is  the  highest  emblem  in  the  cipher 
v  the  world.  St.  Augustine  described  the  nature  of  God  a? 
L,  circle  whose  centre  was  everywhere,  and  its  circumference 
nowhere.  We  are  all  our  lifetime  reading  the  copious  sense  of 
this  first  of  forms.  One  moral  we  have  already  deduced  in 
considering  the  circular  or  compensatory  character  of  every 
human  action.  Another  analogy  we  shall  now  trace;  that 
every  action  admits  of  being  outdone  Our  life  is  EJI  appren- 
ticeship to  the  truth,  that  around  every  circle  another  can  bo 
drawn  ;  that  there  is  no  end  in  nature,  but  every  end  is  a  be 
ginning;  that  taere  is  always  another  dawn  risen  on  mid 
noon,  and  under  every  deep  a  lower  deep  opens. 

This  fact,  as  far  as  it  symbolizes  the  moral  fact  of  the  Un- 
attainable, the  flying  Perfect,  around  which  the  hands  of  man 
can  never  meet,  at  once  the  inspirer  and  the  condemner  of 
every  success,  may  conveniently  serve  us  to  connect  many  il- 
lustrations of  human  power  in  every  department. 

There  are  no  fixtures  in  nature.  The  universe  is  fluid  and 
volatile.  Permanence  is  but  a  word  of  degrees.  Our  globe 
seen  by  God,  is  a  transparent  law,  not  a  mass  of  facts.  The 
law  dissolves  the  fact  and  holds  it  fluid.  Our  culture  is  the 
predominance  of  an  idea  which  draws  after  it  all  this  train 
of  cities  and  institutions.  Let  us  rise  into  another  idea  :  they 
Will  disappear.  The  Greek  sculpture  is  all  melted  away,  as  if 
it  had  been  statues  of  ice  :  here  and  there  a  solitary  figure  or 
fragment  remaining,  as  we  see  flecks  and  scraps  of  snow  left  in 
cold  dells  and  mountain  clefts,  in  June  and  July.  For,  the 
genius  that  created  it,  creates  now  somewhat  else.  The  Greek 
letters  last  a  little  longer,  but  are  already  passing  under  tin- 
same  sentence,  and  tumbling  into  the  inevitable  pit  which  the 
creation  of  new  thought  opens  for  all  that  is  old.  Tin-  m-w 
continents  are  built  out  of  the  ruins  of  an  old  planet :  the  new 
races  fed  out  of  the  decomposition  of  the  foregoing.  Ne«r  arti 

(161) 


&  EMERSON1  S  ES8AV& 

destroy  the  old.  See  the  investment  of  capital  in  aqueducts, 
made  useless  by  hydraulics;  fortifications,  by  gunpowder; 
roads  a/id  canals,  by  railways;  sails,  by  steam;  steam  by 
jlectricity. 

You  admire  this  tower  of  granite,  weathering  the  hurts  of 
30  many  ages.  Yet  a  little  waving  hand  built  this  huge  wall, 
and  thpt  which  builds,  is  better  than  that  which  is  built.  The 
hai.d  that  built,  can  topple  it  down  much  faster.  Better  than 
the  hand,  and  nimbler,  was  the  invisible  thought  which 
wrought  through  it,  and  thus  ever  behind  the  coarse  effect,  is 
i  fine  cause,  which,  being  narrowly  seen,  is  itself  the  effect  of 
a  finer  cause.  Every  thing  looks  permanent  until  its  secret  is 
known.  A  rich  estate  appears  to  women  and  children,  a  firm 
ind  lasting  fact ;  to  a  merchant,  one  easily  created  out  of  any 
materials,  and  easily  lost.  An  orchard,  good  tillage,  good 
grounds,  seem  a  fixture,  like  a  gold  mine,  or  a  river,  to  a  citi- 
zen, but  to  a  large  farmer,  not  much  more  fixed  than  the  state 
of  the  crop.  Nature  looks  provokingly  stable  and  secular, 
but  it  has  a  cause  like  all  the  rest ;  and  when  once  I  compre- 
hend that,  will  these  fields  stretch  so  immovably  wide,  these 
leaves  hang  so  individually  considerable  ?  Permanence  is  a 
word  of  degrees.  Every  thing  is  medial.  Moons  are  no  more 
bounds  to  spiritual  power  than  bat-balls. 

The  key  to  every  man  is  his  thought.  Sturdy  and  defying 
though  he  look,  he  has  a  helm  which  he  obeys,  which  is,  the 
idea  after  which  all  his  facts  are  classified.  He  can  only  be  re- 
formed by  showing  him  a  new  idea  which  commands  his  own. 
The  life  of  man  is  a  self-evolving  circle,  which,  from  a  ring 
imperceptibly  small,  rushes  on  all  sides  outwards  to  new  and 
larger  circles,  and  that  without  end.  The  extent  to  which  this 
generation  of  circles,  wheel  without  wheel,  will  go,  depends  on 
the  force  or  truth  of  the  individual  soul.  For,  it  is  the  inert 
effort  of  each  thought  having  formed  itself  into  a  circular  wave 
of  circumstance,  as,  for  instance,  an  empire,  rules  of  an  art,  a 
local  usage,  a  religious  rite,  to  heap  itself  on  that  ridge,  and 
to  solidify,  and  hem  in  the  life.  But  if  the  soul  is  quick 
and  strong,  it  bursts  over  that  boundary  on  all  sides,  and  ex- 
pands another  orbit  on  the  great  deep,  which  also  runs  up  into  a 
high  wave,  with  attempt  again  to  stop  and  to  bind.  But  the 
heart  refuses  to  be  imprisoned ;  in  its  first  and  narrowest 
pulses,  it  already  tends  outward  with  a  vast  force,  and  to  im- 
mense and  innumerable  expansions. 

Every  ultimate  fact  is  only  the  first  of  a  new  series.  Every 
general  law  only  a  particular  fact  of  some  more  general  law 
presently  to  disclose  itself.  There  is  no  outside,  no  enclosing 


no  czrcmuierenee  cc  as.  X^e  :nafc  finises  aw  atorvv 
how  good  1  how  final  I  how  it  puts  a  new  iaee  on  all  things! 
He  nils  the  sky.  Lo,  on  the  other  side,  rises  also  a  man,  and 
Iraws  a  circle  around  the  circle  we  had  just  pronounced  the 
outline  of  the  sphere  Then  already  is  our  first  speaker,  nof 
man,  but  only  a  first  speaker.  His  only  redress  is  forthwith 
fcc  draw  a  circle  outside  of  his  antagonist.  And  so  men  do  by 
themselves.  The"  result  of  to-day  which  haunts  the  mind  and 
jannot  be  escaped,  will  presently  be  abridged  into  &  word,  and 
^e  prmu^Ie  that  seemed  to  explain  nature,  wiU  itself  be  in« 
eluded  as  one  example  _f  a  bolder  generalization.  In  the 
thought  of  to-morrow  there  is  a  power  to  upheave  all  thy 
creed,  all  the  creeds,  all  the  literatures  of  the  nations,  and 
marshal  thee  to  a  heaven  which  no  epic  dream  has  yet  de- 
picted. Every  man  is  not  so  much  a  workman  in  the  world,  aa 
be  is  a  suggestion  of  that  he  should  be.  Men  walk  aa 
prophecies  of  the  next  age. 

Step  by  step  we  scale  this  mysterious  ladder  :  the  steps  are 
actions  ;  the  new  prospect  is  power.  Pifvery  several  result  ia 
threatened  and  judged  by  that  which  follows.  Every  one 
seems  to  be  contradicted  by  the  new ;  it  is  only  limited  by  the 
new.  The  new  statement  is  always  tr.ted  by  the  old,  and,  to 
those  dwelling  in  the  old,  comes  like  an  abyss  of  skepticism. 
But  the  eye  soon  gets  wonted  to  it,  for  the  eye  and  it  are  ef- 
fects of  one  cause ;  then  its  innocency  and  benefit  appear, 
and,  presently,  all  its  energy  spent,  it  pales  and  dwindles  be- 
fore the  revelation  of  the  new  hour. 

Fear  not  the  new  generalization.  Does  the  fact  look  crass 
and  material,  threatening  to  degrade  thy  theory  of  spirit  f 
Resist  it  not ;  it  goes  to  refine  and  raise  thy  theory  of  matter 
Just  as  much. 

There  are  no  fixtures  to  men,  if  we  appeal  to  consciousness. 
Every  man  supposes  himself  not  to  be  fully  understood ;  and 
!f  there  is  any  truth  in  him,  if  he  rests  at  last  on  the  divine 
3oul,  I  see  not  how  it  can  be  otherwise.  The  last  chamber, 
the  last  closet,  he  must  feel,  was  never  opened ;  there  is  al- 
ways a  residuum  unknown,  unanalyzable.  That  is,  every  man 
h^lieves  that  he  has  a  greater  possibility. 

Our  moods  do  not  believe  in  each  other.  To-day,  I  am  full 
of  thoughts,  and  can  write  what  I  please.  I  see  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  have  the  same  thought,  the  same  power  of 
expression  to-morrow.  What  I  write,  whilst  1  write  it,  seems 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world :  but,  yesterday,  I  saw  a 
dreary  vacuity  in  this  direction  in  which  now  I  see  so  much ; 
and  a  month  hence.  I  doubt  not  T  D^«U  wonder  who  ho  wi» 


«4  1    £B80N'-8  E8SAT& 

that  <vrote  so  many  continuous  pages.  Alas  for  this  infirm 
faith,  this  will  not  strenuous,  this  vast  ebb  of  a  vast  flow  !  1 
am  Uod  in  nature ;  I  am  a  weed  by  the  wall. 

The  continual  effort  to  raise  himself  above  himself,  to  work 
a  pitch  abo^e  his  last  height,  betra}Ts  itself  in  a  man's  rela- 
tions. We  thirst  for  approbation,  yet  cannot  forgive  the  ap« 
prover.  The  sweet  of  nature  is  love ;  yet  if  I  have  a  friend, 
I  am  tormented  by  my  imperfections.  The  love  of  me  accuses 
the  other  party.  If  he  were  high  enough  to  slight  me,  the* 
could  I  love  him,  and  rise  by  my  affection  to  new  height*. 
A  man's  growth  is  seen  in  the  successive  choirs  of  his  friends, 
For  every  friend  whom  he  loses  for  truth,  he  gains  a  better, 
I  thought,  as  I  walked  in  the  woods  and  mused  on  my  friends, 
why  should  I  play  with  them  this  game  of  idolatry?  I  know 
and  see  too  well,  when  not  voluntarily  blind,  the  speedy  limits 
of  persons  called  high  and  worthy.  Rich,  noble,  and  great 
they  are  by  the  liberality  of  our  speech,  but  truth  is  sa,d.  O 
blessed  Spirit,  whom  I  forsake  for  these,  the}'  are  not  thee ! 
Every  pei-sonal  consideration  that  we  allow,  costs  us  heaventy 
state.  We  sell  the  thrones  of  angels  for  a  short  and  turbulent 
pleasure. 

How  often  must  we  learn  this  lesson  ?  Mei:  cease  to  inter- 
est us  when  we  find  their  limitations.  The  only  sin  is  limita- 
tion. As  soon  as  you  once  come  up  with  a  man's  limitations, 
it  is  all  over  with  him.  Has  he  talents  ?  has  he  enterprises  ? 
has  he  knowledge?  it  boots  not.  Infinitely  alluring  and  at- 
tractive was  he  to  you  yesterday,  a  great  hope,  a  sea  to  swim 
in ;  now,  you  have  found  his  shores,  found  it  a  pond,  and  3rou 
care  not  if  you  never  see  it  again. 

Each  new  step  we  take  in  thought  reconciles  twenty  seem- 
ingly discordant  facts,  as  expressions  of  one  law.  Aristotle 
and  Plato  are  reckoned  the  respective  heads  of  two  schools. 
A  wise  man  will  see  that  Aristotle  Platonizes.  By  going  one 
step  farther  back  in  thought,  discordant  opinions  are  recon 
ciled,  by  being  seen  to  be  two  extremes  of  one  principle,  and 
we  can  never  go  so  far  back  as  to  preclude  a  still  higher 
vision. 

Beware  when  the  great  God  lets  loose  a  thinker  on  this 
planet.  Then  all  things  are  at  risk.  It  is  as  when  a  confla- 
gration has  broken  out  in  a  great  city,  and  no  man  knows 
what  is  safe,  or  where  it  will  end.  There  is  not  a  piece  of 
science,  but  its  flank  may  be  turned  to-morrow  ;  there  is  not 
»ny  literary  reputation,  not  the  so-called  eternal  names  oi 
feme,  that  may  not  be  revised  and  condemned.  The  very 
hopes  of  man,  the  thoughts  of  his  heart,  the  religion  of  na- 


CIRCLES.  105 

tions,  the  manners  and  morals  of  mankind,  are  all  at  the 
mercy  of  a  new  generalization.  Generalization  is  always  a 
new  influx  of  the  divinity  into  the  mind.  Hence  the  thriL 
that  attends  it. 

Valor  consists  in  the  power  of  self-recovery,  so  that  a  man 
cannot  have  his  flank  turned,  cannot  be  outgeneraled,  but  put 
him  where  you  will,  he  stands.  This  can  only  be  by  his  pre. 
ferring  truth  to  his  past  apprehension  of  truth ;  and  his  alert 
acceptance  of  it  from  whatever  quarter;  the  intrepid  convic- 
tion that  his  laws,  his  relations  to  society,  his  Christianity,  hia 
world,  may  at  any  time  be  superseded  and  decease. 

There  are  degrees  in  idealism.  We  learn  first  to  play  with 
it  academically,  as  the  magnet  was  once  a  toy.  Then  we  sec 
in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  poetry  that  it  may  be  true,  that  it 
is  true  in  gleams  and  fragments.  Then,  its  countenance  waxes 
stern  and  grand,  and  we  see  that  it  must  be  true.  It  now 
shows  itselt  ethical  and  practical.  We  learn  that  God  is ;  that 
he  is  in  me  ;  and  that  all  things  are  shadows  of  him.  The 
idealism  of  Berkeley  is  only  a  crude  statement  of  the  idealism 
of  Jesus,  and  that,  again,  is  a  crude  statement  of  the  fact  that 
all  nature  is  the  rapid  efflux  of  goodness  executing  and  organ- 
izing itself.  Much  more  obviously  is  history  and  the  state  of 
the  world  at  any  one  time,  directly  dependent  on  the  intellec- 
tual classification  then  existing  in  the  minds  of  men.  The 
things  which  are  dear  tc  men  at  this  hour,  are  so  on  account 
or  the  ideas  which  have  emerged  on  their  mental  horizon,  and 
which  cause  the  present  order  of  things  as  a  tree  bears  its  ap- 
ples. A  new  degree  of  culture  would  instantly  revolutionize 
the  entire  system  of  human  pursuits. 

Conversation  is  a  game  of  circles.  In  conversation  we 
pluck  up  the  termini  which  bound  the  common  of  silence  on 
every  side.  The  parties  are  not  to  be  judged  by  the  spirit 
tney  partake  and  even  express  under  this  Pentecost.  To- 
morrow they  will  have  receded  from  this  high-water  mark. 
To-morrow  you  shall  find  them  stooping  under  the  old  pack- 
saddles.  Yet  let  us  enjoy  the  cloven  flame  whilst  it  glows  on 
our  walls.  When  each  new  speaker  strikes  a  new  light,  eman- 
cipates us  from  the  oppression  of  the  last  speaker,  to  oppress 
us  with  the  greatness  and  exclusiveness  of  his  own  thought, 
then  yields  us  to  another  redeemer,  we  seem  to  recover  our 
rights,  to  become  men.  0  what  truths  profound  and  execu- 
table only  in  ages  and  orbs,  are  supposed  in  the  announcement 
of  every  truth !  In  common  hours,  soc '  ty  sits  cold  and 
statuesque.  We  all  stand  waiting,  empty,— knowing,  possibly, 
that  we  can  be  full,  surrounded  by  mighty  symbol*  which  are 


cot  5?.JdM)iB  to  us,  i»t.  prose  a  ."JijEiu  ticyg.  1'fceti  comefci 
the  god.  sad  converts  ta*  statues  intoflery  men,  and  by  a  flash 
of  his  eye  burns  op  the  vesl  which  shrouded  all  things,  and  tha 
meaning  of  the  very  furniture,  Ox  cup  and  saucer,  of  chair  a:;3 
clock  and  tester,  is'roanifest.  The  facts  which  loomed  so  large 
in  the  fogs  of  yesterday, — property,  climate,  breeding,  per- 
sonal beauty,  and  the  like,  have  strangely  changed  their  pro- 
portions.  All  that  we  reckoned  settled,  shakes  now  and  n;' 
ties;  and  literatures,  cities,  climates,  religions,  leave  thei.: 
foundations,  and  dance  before  our  eyes.  And  yet  here  again 
eee  the  swift  circumscription.  Good  as  is  discourse,  silence  is 
better,  and  shames  it.  The  length  of  the  discourse  indicates 
the  distance  of  thought  betwixt  the  speaker  and  the  hearer. 
If  they  were  at  a  perfect  understanding  in  any  part,  no  words 
would  be  necessary  thereon.  If  at.  one  in  all  parts,  no  word« 
would  be  suffered. 

Literature  is  a  point  outside  of  <  ar  hodiernal  circle,  through 
Which  a  nevr  one  may  be  described.  The  use  of  literature  i@ 
to  afford  us-  n.  platform  whence  we  may  command  a  view  of  our 
present  life,  a  purchase  by  which  we  ma}'  move  it.  We  fill 
ourselves  with  ancient  learning  ;  install  ourselves  the  best  we 
can  in  Greek,  in  Punic,  in  Roman  houses,  only  that  we  may 
wiselier  see  French,  English,  and  American  houses  and  modes 
of  living.  In  like  manner,  we  see  literature  best  from  the 
midst  of -wild  nature,  or  from  the  din  of  affairs,  or  from  a  high 
religion.  The  field  cannot  be  well  seen  from  within  the  field 
The  astronomer  must  have  his  diameter  of  the  earth's  orbit  a# 
a  base  to  find  the  parallax  of  any  star. 

Therefore,  we  va?ue  the  poet.  All  the  argument,  ana  all 
the  wisdom,  is  not  in  the  encyclopedia,  or  the  treatise  on 
metaphysics,  or  th«t  Body  of  Divinity,  but  in  the  sonnet  or  the 
play.  In  my  daily  work  I  incline  to  repeat  my  old  steps,  and 
do  not  believe  in  remedial  force,  in  the  power  of  change  and  re- 
form. But  some  Petrarch  or  Ariosto,  filled  with  the  new  wine 
Of  his  imagination,  writes  me  an  ode,  or  a  brisk  rom?::ce,  full 
of  daring  thought  and  action.  He  smites  and  arouses  me  with 
his  shrill  tones,  breaks  up  my  whole  chain  of  habits,  and  I  open 
my  eye  on  my  own  possibilities.  He  claps  wings  to  the  sides 
of  all  the  solid  old  lumber  of  the  world,  and  I  am  capable  onoe 
more  of  choosing  a  straight  path  in  theory  and  practice. 

We  have  the  same  need  to  command  a  view  of  the  religion 
of  the  world.  We  can  never  see  Christianity  from  the  cate- 
chism:— from  the  pastures,  from  a  boat  in  the  pond,  from 
amidst  the  songs  of  wood-birds,  we  possibly  may.  Cleansed  by 
tfceel«m«>tellightandwind,8teepedin  theseaof  beautiful  form* 


CIRCLES.  Id} 

jrtiicn  tne  field  offers  us,  we  may  chance  to  cast  a  right  glance 
back  upon  biography.  Christianity  is  rightly  dear  to  the  best 
of  mankind ;  yet  was  there  never  a  young  philosopher  whose 
breeding  had  fallen  into  the  Christian  church,  by  whom  that 
brave  text  of  Paul's,  was  not  specially  prized,  "  Then  shall 
also  the  Son  be  subject  unto  Him  who  put  all  things  under 
him,  that  God  may  be  all  in  all"  Let  the  claims  and  virtues 
of  persons  be  never  so  great  and  welcome,  the  instinct  of  man 
presses  eagerly  onward  to  the  impersonal  and  illimitable,  and 
gladly  arms  itself  against  the  dogmatism  of  bigots  with  this 
generous  word,  out  of  the  book  itself. 

The  natural  world  may  be  conceived  of  as  a  system  of  con- 
centric circles,  and  we  now  and  then  detect  in  nature  slight 
dislocations,  which  apprize  us  that  this  surface  on  which  we 
now  stand,  is  not  fixed,  but  sliding.  These  manifold  tenacious 
qualities,  this  chemistry  and  vegetation,  these  metals  and 
animals,  which  seem  to  stand  there  for  their  own  sake,  are 
means  and  methods  only,  are  words  of  God,  and  as  fugitive 
as  other  words.  Has  the  naturalist  or  chemist  learned  his 
craft,  who  has  explored  the  gravity  of  atoms  and  the  elective 
affinities,  who  has  not  yet  discerned  the  deeper  law  whereof 
this  is  only  a  partial  or  approximate  statement,  namely,  that 
like  draws  to  like ;  and  that  the  goods  which  belong  to  you, 
gravitate  to  you,  and  need  not  be  pursued  with  pains  and  cost? 
Yet  is  that  statement  approximate  also,  and  not  final.  Omni- 
presence is  a  higher  fact.  Not  through  subtle,  subterranean 
channels,  need  friend  and  fact  be  drawn  to  their  counterpart, 
but,  rightly  considered,  these  things  proceed  from  the  eternal 
generation  of  the  soul.  Cause  and  effect  are  two  sides  of  one 
fact. 

The  same  law  of  eternal  procession  ranges  all  that  we  call 
the  virtues,  and  extinguishes  each  in  the  light  of  a  better. 
The  great  man  will  not  be  prudent  in  the  popular  sense ;  all 
his  prudence  will  be  so  much  deduction  from  his  grandeur. 
But  it  behooves  each  to  see  when  he  sacrifices  prudence,  to  what 
god  he  devotes  it ;  if  to  ease  and  pleasure,  he  had  better  be 
prudent  still :  if  to  a  great  trust,  he  can  well  spare  his  mule 
and  panniers,  who  has  a  winged  chariot  instead.  Geoffrey 
draws  on  his  boots  to  go  through  the  woods,  that  his  feet  may 
be  safer  from  the  bite  of  snakes ;  Aaron  never  thinks  of  such 
a  peril.  In  many  years,  neither  is  harmed  by  such  an  accident. 
Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  with  every  precaution  you  take 
against  such  an  evil,  you  put  yourself  into  the  power  of  the 
evil.  I  suppose  that  the  highest  prudence  is  the  lowest  pru- 
dence. Is  this  too  sudden  a  rushing  from  the  centre  to  the 


168  SMERSON'8  ESSAYts. 

verge  of  our  orbit  ?  Think  how  many  times  we  shall  fallback 
into  pitiful  calculations,  before  we  take  up  our  rest  in  the 
great  sentiment,  or  make  the  verge  of  to-day  the  new  centre. 
Besides,  your  bravest  sentiment  is  familiar  to  the  humblest 
men.  The  poor  and  the  low  have  their  way  of  expressing  the 
last  facts  of  philosophy  as  well  as  you.  "  Blessed  be  nothing," 
and  "  the  worse  things  are,  the  better  they  are,"  are  proverbs 
which  express  the  transcendentalism  of  common  life. 

One  man's  justice  is  another's  injustice  ;  one  man's  beauty, 
another's  ugliness;  one  man's  wisdom,  another's  folly,  as  one 
beholds  the  same  objects  from  a  higher  point  of  view.  One 
man  thinks  justice  consists  in  paying  debts,  and  has  no  meas- 
ure in  his  abhorrence  of  another  who  is  very  remiss  in  this 
duty,  and  makes  the  creditor  wait  tediously.  But  that  second 
man  has  his  own  way  of  looking  at  things;  asks  himself, 
which  debt  must  I  pay  first,  the  debt  to  the  rich,  or  the  debt 
to  the  poor  ?  the  debt  of  money,  or  the  debt  of  thought  to 
mankind,  of  genius  to  nature  ?  For  you,  0  broker,  there  is 
no  other  principle  but  arithmetic.  For  me,  commerce  is  of 
trivial  import ;  love,  faith,  truth  of  character,  the  aspiration 
of  man,  these  are  sacred:  nor  can  I  detach  one  duty,  like 
you,  from  all  other  duties,  and  concentrate  my  forces  mechan- 
ically on  the  payment  of  moneys.  Let  me  live  onward  :  you 
shall  find  that,  though  slower,  the  progress  of  my  character 
will  liquidate  all  these  debts  without  injustice  to  higher 
claims.  If  a  man  should  dedicate  himself  to  the  payment  of 
notes,  would  not  this  be  injustice?  Owes  he  no  debt  but 
money  ?  And  are  all  claims  on  him  to  be  postponed  to  a  land- 
lord's or  a  banker's  ? 

There  is  no  virtue  which  is  final ;  all  are  initial.  The  vir- 
ues  of  society  are  vices  of  the  saint.  The  terror  of  reform 
a  the  discovery  that  we  must  cast  away  our  virtues,  or  what 
we  have  always  esteemed  such,  into  the  same  pit  that  has 
Consumed  our  grosser  vices. 

"  Forgive  his  crimes,  forgive  his  virtues  too, 
Those  smaller  faults,  half  converts  to  the  right 

It  is  the  highest  power  of  divine  moments  that  they  abolish 
our  contritions  also.  I  accuse  myself  of  sloth  and  unprofit- 
ableness, day  by  day ;  but  when  these  waves  of  God  flow  into 
me,  I  no  longer  reckon  lost  time.  I  no  longer  poorly  compute 
my  possible  achievement  by  what  remains  to  me  of  the  month 
or  the  year ;  for  these  moments  confer  a  sort  of  omnipresence 
and  omnipotence,  which  asks  nothing  of  duration,  but  sees 
that  the  energy  of  the  mind  is  commensurate  with  the  work 
to  be  done,  without  time. 


CIRCLES*  too 

And  thus,  O  circular  philosopher,  I  hear  some  reader  ex. 

^'  y%  arrived  at  a  fine  Pyrrh<>nisin,  at  an  equivalence 

and  mdifferency  of  all  actions,  and  would  fain  teach  us  that 
*/  eve  are  true,  forsooth,  our  crimes  may  be  lively  stones  out 
of  which  we  shall  construct  the  temple  of  the  true  tfod. 

I  *m  not  careful  to  justity  myself.  I  own  I  am  gladdened 
by  seeing  the  predominance  of  the  saccharine  principle 
throughout  vegetable  nature,  and  not  less  by  beholding  in 
morals  that  unrestrained  inundation  of  the  principle  of  good 
into  every  chink  and  hoie  that  selfishness  has  left  open,  yea. 
into  selfishness  and  sin  itself;  so  that  no  evil  is  pure;  noi 
hell  itsel;  without  its  extreme  satisfactions.  But  lest  I  should 
mislead  twiy  when  I  have  my  own  head,  and  obey  my  whims, 
let  me  remind  the  reader  that  I  am  only  an  experimenter.  Do 
not  set  the  least  value  on  what  I  do,  or  the  least  discredit  on 
what  I  do  not,  as  if  I  pretended  to  settle  any  thing  as  true  or 
false.  I  unsettle  all  things.  No  facts  are  to  me  sacred ;  none 
are  profane ;  I  simply  experiment,  an  endless  seeker,  with  no 
Past  at  my  back. 

Yet  this  incessant  movement  and  progression,  which  all 
things  partake,  could  never  become  sensible  to  us,  but  by  con- 
trast to  some  principle  of  fixture  or  stability  in  the  soul. 
Whilst  the  eternal  generation  of  circles  proceeds,  the  eternal 
generator  abides.  That  central  life  is  somewhat  superior  to 
creation,  superior  to  knowledge  and  thought,  and  contains  all 
its  circles.  Forever  it  labors  to  create  a  life  and  thought  as 
large  and  excellent  as  itself;  but  in  vain;  for  that  which  is 
made,  instructs  how  to  make  a  better. 

Thus  there  is  no  sleep,  no  pause,  no  preservation,  but  all 
things  renew,  germinate,  and  spring.  Why  should  we  import 
rags  and  relics  into  the  new  hour?  Nature  abhors  the  old, 
and  old  age  seems  the  only  disease  :  all  others  run  into  this 
one.  We  call  it  by  many  names,  fever,  intemperance,  insanity, 
stupidity,  and  crime :  they  are  all  forms  of  old  age :  they  are 
rest,  conservatism,  appropriation,  inertia,  not  newness,  not 
the  way  onward.  We  grizzle  every  day  I  see  no  need  of  it. 
Whilst  we  converse  with  what  is  above  us,  we  do  not  grow 
old,  but  grow  young.  Infancy,  youth,  receptive,  aspiring, 
with  religious  eye  looking  upward,  counts  itself  nothing,  and 
abandons  itself  to  the  instruction  flowing  from  all  sides.  But 
the  man  and  woman  of  seventy,  assume  to  know  all ;  throw 
up  their  hope ;  renounce  aspiration  ;  accept  the  actual  for  the 
necessary ;  and  talk  down  to  the  young.  Let  them  then  be- 
come organs  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  let  them  be  lovers ;  let  them 
ttehold  truth  ;  and  their  eyes  are  uplifted,  their  wrinkles 


JT70 

smoothed,  they  are  perfumed  again  with  hope  and  power. 
This  old  age  ought  not  to  creep  on  a  human  mind.  In  nature^ 
every  moment  is  new  ;  the  past  is  always  swallowed  and  for. 
gotten ;  the  coming  only  is  sacred.  Nothing  is  secure  but 
life,  transition,  the  energizing  spirit.  No  love  can  be  bound 
by  oath  or  covenant  to  secure  it  against  a  higher  love.  No 
truth  so  sublime  but  it  may  be  trivial  to-morrow  in  the  light 
of  new  thoughts.  People  wish  to  be  settled :  only  as  far  as 
they  are  unsettled,  is  th^re  any  hope  for  them. 

Life  is  a  series  of  surprises.  We  do  not  guess  to-day  the 
mood,  the  pleasure,  the  power  of  to-morrow,  when  we  are 
building  up  our  being.  Of  lower  states, — of  acts  of  routine 
and  sense,  we  can  tell  somewhat,  but  the  masterpieces  of  God, 
the  total  growths,  and  universal  movements  of  the  soul,  he 
hideth;  they  are  incalculable.  I  can  know  that  truth  is 
divine  and  helpful,  but  how  it  shall  help  me,  I  can  have  no 
guess,  for,  so  to  be  is  the  sole  inlet  of  so  to  know.  The  new 
position  of  the  advancing  man  has  all  the  powers  of  the  old, 
yet  has  them  all  new.  It  carries  in  its  bosom  all  the  energies 
of  the  past,  yet  is  itself  an  exhalation  of  the  morning.  I 
cast  away  in  this  new  moment  all  my  once  hoarded  knowledge, 
as  vacant  and  vain.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  seem  I  to  know 
any  thing  rightly.  The  simplest  words, — we  do  not  know 
what  they  mean,  except  when  we  love  and  aspire. 

The  difference  between  talents  and  character  is  adroitness 
to  keep  the  old  and  trodden  round,  and  power  and  courage  to 
make  a  new  road  to  new  and  better  goals.  Character  makes 
an  overpowering  present,  a  cheerful,  determined  hour,  which 
fortifies  all  the  company,  by  making  them  see  that  much  is 
possible  and  excellent,  that  was  not  thought  of.  Character 
dulls  the  impression  of  particular  events.  When  we  see  the 
conqueror,  we  do  not  think  much  of  any  one  battle  or  success. 
We  see  that  we  had  exaggerated  the  difficulty.  It  was  easy 
to  him.  The  great  man  is  not  convulsible  or  tormentable. 
He  is  so  much,  that  events  pass  over  him  without  much  im- 
pression. People  say  sometimes,  *  See  what  I  have  overcome  •, 
see  how  cheerful  I  am ;  see  how  completely  I  have  triumphed 
over  these  black  events.'  Not  if  they  still  remind  me  of  the 
black  event, — they  have  not  yet  conquered.  Is  it  conquest  to 
be  a  gay  and  decorated  sepulchre,  or  a  half-crazed  widow 
hysterically  laughing?  True  conquest  is  the  causing  tht 
black  event  to  fade  and  disappear  as  an  early  cloud  of  insig« 
uificant  result  in  a  history  so  Urge  and  advancing. 

The  one  thing  which  we  seek  with  insatiable  desire,  is  to 
forget  ourselves,  to  be  surprised  out  of  our  propriety,  to  la&* 


CIRCLES.  171 

our  sempiternal  memory,  and  to  do  something  witnout  know- 
ing how  or  why  ;  in  short,  to  draw  a  new  circle.  Nothing 
great  was  ever  achieved  without  enthusiasm.  The  way  of  life 
is  wonderful.  It  is  by  abandonment.  The  great  moments  of 
history  are  the  facilities  of  performance  through  the  strength 
of  ideas,  as  the  works  of  genius  and  religion.  "  A  man,"  said 
Oliver  Cromwell,  "  never  rises  so  high  as  when  he  knows  not 
whither  he  is  going."  Dreams  and  drunkenness,  the  uso  ot 
>pium  and  alcohol  are  the  semblance  and  counterfeit  of  this 
oracular  genius,  and  hence  their  dangerous  attraction  for  men. 
For  the  like  reason,  they  ask  the  aid  of  wild  passions,  as  in 
gaming  and  war,  to  ape  in  some  manner  these  flames  and 
generosities  of  the  heart. 


ESSAY  XL 
INTELLECT, 


EVERY  substance  is  negatively  electric  to  that  which  stand t. 
above  it  in  the  chemical  tables,  positively  to  that  which  stands 
below  it.  Water  dissolves  wood  and  stone,  and  salt ;  air  dis- 
solves water ;  electric  fire  dissolves  air,  but  the  intellect  dis- 
solves fire,  gravity,  laws,  method,  and  the  subtlest  unnamed 
relations  of  nature  in  its  resistless  menstruum.  Intellect  lies 
behind  genius,  which  is  intellect  constructive.  Intellect  is 
the  simple  power  anterior  to  all  action  or  construction. 
Gladly  would  I  unfold  in  calm  degrees  a  natural  history  of 
the  intellect,  but  what  man  has  yet  been  able  to  mark  the 
steps  and  boundaries  of  that  transparent  essence  ?  The  first 
questions  are  always  to  be  asked,  and  the  wisest  doctor  is 
gravelled  by  the  inquisitiveness  of  a  child.  How  can  we  speak 
of  the  action  of  the  mind  under  any  divisions,  as,  of  its  knowl- 
edge, of  its  ethics,  of  its  works,  and  so  forth,  since  it  melts 
will  into  perception,  knowledge  into  act?  Each  becomes  the 
other.  Itself  alone  is.  Its  vision  is  not  like  the  vision  of  the 
eye,  but  is  union  with  the  things  known. 

Intellect  and  intellection  signify,  to  the  common  ear,  consid- 
eration of  abstract  truth.  The  consideration  of  time  and 
place,  of  you  and  me,  of  profit  and  hurt,  tyrannize  over  most 
men's  minds.  Intellect  separates  the  fact  considered  from 
I/OM,  irom  all  local  and  personal  reference,  and  discerns  it  as  if 
it  existed  for  its  own  sake.  Heraclitus  looked  upon  the  affec- 
tions as  dense  and  colored  mists.  In  the  fog  of  good  and  evil 
affections,  it  is  hard  for  man  to  walk  forward  in  a  straiglj' 
line.  Intellect  is  void  of  affection,  and  sees  an  object  as  ii 
stands  in  the  light  of  science,  cool  and  disengaged.  The  intel- 
lect goes  out  of  the  individual,  floats  over  its  own  personality, 
and  regards  it  as  a  fact,  and  not  as  1  and  mine.  He  who  is 
immersed  in  what  concerns  person  or  place,  cannot  see  the 
problem  of  existence.  This  the  intellect  always  ponders. 
Nature  shows  all  things  formed  and  bound.  The  intellect 
pierces  the  form,  overleaps  the  wall,  detects  intrinsic  likeness 
between  remote  things,  and  reduces  all  things  into  a  few  prii> 


J78  EMERSON1  S  ESSAYS. 

Tee  making  a  fact  the  subject  of  thought,  raises  it.  AH 
that  mass  of  mental  and  moral  phenomena  which  we  do  not 
make  objects  of  voluntary  thought,  come  within  the  power  of 
fortune ;  they  constitute  the  circumstance  of  daily  life ;  the5 
are  subject  to  change,  to  fear,  and  hope.  Every  man  beholds 
his  human  condition  with  a  degree  of  melancholy.  As  a  ship 
aground  is  battered  by  the  waves,  so  man,  imprisoned  in  mortal 
life,  lies  open  to  the  mercy  of  coming  events.  But  a  truth, 
separated  by  the  intellect,  is  no  longer  a  subject  of  destiny. 
We  behold  it  as  a  god  upraised  above  care  and  fear.  And  so 
any  fact  in  our  life,  or  any  record  of  our  fancies  or  reflections, 
disentangled  from  the  web  ^-  our  unconsciousness,  becomes  an 
object  impersonal  and  immortal.  It  is  the  past  restored,  but 
embalmed.  A  better  art  than  that  of  Egypt  has  taken  fear 
and  corruption  out  of  it.  It  is  eviscerated  sf  care.  It  is 
oliered  lor  science.  What  is  addressed  to  us  for  contempla- 
tion does  not  threaten  us,  but  makes  us  intellectual  beings. 

The  growth  of  the  intellect  is  spontaneous  in  every  step. 
The  mind  that  grows  could  not  perdict  the  times,  the  means, 
the  mode  of  that  spontaneity.  God  enters  by  a  piivate  door 
into  every  individual.  Long  prior  to  the  age  ot  reflection,  is 
the  thinking  of  the  mind.  Out  of  darkness,  it  came  insensibly 
into  the  marvellous  light  of  to-day.  Over  it  always  reigned  a 
firm  law.  In  the  period  of  infancy  it  accepted  and  disposed 
of  all  impressions  from  the  surrounding  creation  after  its  own 
way.  Whatever  any  mind  doth  or  saith,  is  after  a  law.  It 
has  no  random  act  or  word.  And  this  native  law  remains 
over  it  after  it  has  come  to  reflection  or  conscious  thought. 
In  the  most  worn,  pedantic,  introverted,  self-tormentor's  life, 
the  greatest  part  is  incalculable  by  him,  unforeseen,  unimagin* 
able,  and  must  be,  until  he  can  take  himself  up  by  his  own 
ears.  What  am  I  ?  What  has  my  will  done  to  make  me  that 
I  am  ?  Nothing.  I  have  been  floated  into  this  thought,  this 
hour,  this  connection  of  events,  by  might  and  mind  sublime, 
and  my  ingenuity  and  wilfulness  have  not  thwarted,  have  not 
aided  to  an  appreciable  degree. 

Our  spontaneous  action  is  always  the  best.  You  cannot, 
with  your  best  deliberation  and  heed,  come  so  close  to  any 
question  as  your  spontaneous  glance  shall  bring  you,  whilst 
you  rise  from  your  bed,  or  walk  abroad  in  the  morning  after 
meditating  the  matter  before  sleep,  on  the  previous  night. 
Always  our  thinking  is  a  pious  reception.  Our  truth  of 
thought  is  therefore  vitiated  as  much  by  too  violent  direction 
given  by  our  will,  as  by  too  great  negligence.  We  do  not  de- 
what  we  will  think.  We  only  open  our  senses,  clear 


JWTELLSC2.  IT, 

away,  ar  we  can,  all  obstruction  from  the  fact,  and  suffer  the 
intellect  to  see.  We  have  little  control  over  our  thoughts 
We  are  the  prisoners  of  ideas.  They  catch  us  up  for  moments 
'lato  their  heaven,  and  so  fully  engage  us,  that  we  take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow,  gaze  like  children,  without  an  effort 
to  make  them  our  own.  By-and-by  we  fall  out  of  that  rapture,, 
bethink  us  where  we  have  been,  what  we  have  seen,  and  repe&t.' 
is  truly  as  we  can,  what  we  have  beheld.  As  far  as  we  can 
recall  these  ecstasies,  we  carry  away  in  the  ineffaceable  mem- 
3ry,  the  result,  and  all  men  and  all  the  ages  confirm  it.  It  is 
called  Truth.  But  the  moment  we  cease  to  report,  and  at* 
tempt  to  correct  and  contrive,  it  is  not  truth. 

If  we  consider  what  persons  have  stimulated  and  profited  us, 
we  shall  perceive  the  superiority  of  the  spontaneous  or  intui 
tive  principle  over  the  arithmetical  or  logical.  The  first  al- 
ways contains  the  second,  but  virtual  and  latent.  We  want, 
In  every  man,  a  long  logic  ;  we  cannot  pardon  the  absence  of 
it,  but  it  must  not  be  spoken.  Logic  is  the  procession  or  pro- 
portionate unfolding  of  the  intuition;  but  its  virtue  is  as 
silent  method ;  the  moment  it  would  appear  as  propositions, 
and  have  a  separate  value,  it  is  worthless. 

In  every  man's  mind,  some  images,  words,  and  facts  remain, 
without  effort  on  his  part  to  imprint  them,  which  others  forget, 
and  afterwards  these  illustrate  to  him  important  laws.  All 
our  progress  is  an  unfolding,  like  the  vegetable  bud.  You 
have  first  an  instinct,  then  an  opinion,  then  a  knowledge,  as 
the  plant  has  root,  bud,  and  fruit.  Trust  the  instinct  to  the 
end,  though  you  can  render  no  reason.  It  is  vain  to  hurry  it. 
By  trusting  it  to  the  end,  it  shall  ripen  into  truth,  and  you 
shall  know  why  you  believe. 

Each  mind  has  its  own  method.  A  true  man  never  acquires 
after  college  rules.  What  you  have  aggregated  in  a  natural 
manner,  surprises  and  delights  when  it  is  produced.  For  we 
?aunot  oversee  each  other's  secret.  And  hence  the  differences 
jetween  men  in  natural  endowment  are  insignificant  in  com- 
parison with  their  common  wealth.  Do  you  think  the  porter 
and  the  cook  have  no  anecdotes,  no  experiences,  no  wonders 
$>r  you  ?  Every  body  knows  as  much  as  the  savant.  The 
walls  of  rude  minds  are  scrawled  all  over  with  facts,  with 
thoughts.  They  shall  one  day  bring  a  lantern  and  read  the 
inscriptions.  Every  man,  in  the  degree  in  which  he  has  wit 
and  culture,  finds  his  curiosity  inflamed  concerning  the  modes 
of  living  and  thinking  of  other  men,  and  especially  of  those 
classes  whose  minds  have  not  been  subdued  bv  th^  drill  of 
ichool  education* 


H6  EMEHSOWS  ESSAYS. 

This  instinctive  action  never  ceases  in  a  healthy  mind,  but 
becomes  richer  and  more  frequent  in  its  informations  through 
all  states  of  culture.  At  last  comes  the  era  of  reflection,  when 
we  not  only  observe,  but  take  pains  to  observe ;  when  we  of  set 
purpose,  sit  down  to  consider  an  abstract  truth  ;  when  we  keep 
the  mind's  eye  open,  whilst  we  converse,  whilst  we  read,  whilsfc 
we  act,  intent  to  learn  the  secret  law  of  some  class  of  facts. 

What  is  the  hardest  task  in  the  world  ?  To  think.  I  would 
put  myself  in  the  attitude  to  look  in  the  eye  an  abstract  truth, 
and  I  cannot.  I  blench  and  withdraw  on  this  side  and  on 
that.  I  seem  to  know  what  he  meant,  who  said,  No  man  can 
see  God  face  to  face  and  live.  For  example,  a  man  explores 
the  basis  of  civil  government.  Let  him  intend  his  mind  with- 
out  respite,  without  rest,  in  one  direction.  His  best  heed  long 
time  avails  him  nothing.  Yet  thoughts  are  flitting  before 
him.  We  all  but  apprehend,  we  dimty  forebode  the  truth. 
We  say,  I  will  walk  abroad,  and  the  truth  will  take  form  and 
clearness  to  me.  We  go  forth,  but  cannot  find  it.  It  seems  aa 
if  we  needed  only  the  stillness  and  composed  attitude  of  the  li- 
brary, to  seize  the  thought.  But  we  come  in,  and  are  as  far 
from  it  as  at  first.  Then,  in  a  moment,  and  unannounced,  the 
zruth  appears.  A  certain,  wandering  light  appears,  and  is  the 
distinction,  the  principle  we  wanted.  But  the  oracle  comes, 
because  we  had  previously  laid  siege  to  the  shrine.  It  seems 
as  if  the  law  of  the  intellect  resembled  that  law  of  nature  by 
which  we  now  inspire,  now  expire  the  breath ;  by  which  the 
heart  now  draws  in,  then  hurls  out  the  blood, — the  law  of  un- 
dulation. So  now  you  must  labor  with  your  brains,  and  now 
you  must  forbear  your  activity,  and  see  what  the  great  Soul 
showeth. 

Our  intellections  are  mainly  prospective.  The  immortality 
of  man  is  as  legitimately  preached  from  the  intellections  as 
from  the  moral  volitions.  Every  intellection  is  mainly  pro. 
Bpective.  Its  present  value  is  its  least.  It  is  a  little  seed, 
Inspect  what  delights  you  in  Plutarch,  in  Shakspeare,  in  Cer- 
vantes.  Each  truth  that  a  writer  acquires,  is  a  lantern  which 
he  instantly  turns  full  on  what  facts  and  thoughts  lay  already 
in  his  mind,  and  behold,  all  the  mats  and  rubbish  which  had 
jittered  his  garret,  become  precious.  Every  trivial  fact  in  his 
private  biography  becomes  an  illustration  of  this  new  principle, 
revisits  the  day,  and  delights  all  men  by  its  piquancy  and  new 
charm.  Men  say,  where  did  he  get  this  ?  and  think  there  waa 
something  divine  in  his  life.  But  no;  they  have  myriads  of 
facts  just  as  good,  would  they  only  get  a  lamp  to  ransack 
their  attics  withal 


INTELLECT.  |7f 

We  are  all  wise.  The  difference  between  persons  Is  not  in 
wisdom  but  in  art.  I  knew,  in  an  academical  club,  a  person 
who  always  deferred  to  me,  who,  seeing  my  whim  for  writing, 
fencied  that  my  experiences  had  somewhat  superior ;  whilst  I 
saw  that  his  experiences  were  as  good  as  mine.  Give  them  to 
me,  and  I  would  make  the  same  use  of  them.  He  held  the 
old ;  he  holds  the  new ;  I  had  the  habit  of  tacking  together  the 
old  and  the  new,  which  he  did  not  use  to  exercise.  This  may 
hold  in  the  great  examples.  Perhaps  if  we  should  meet  Shaks. 
peare,  we  should  not  be  conscious  of  any  steep  inferiority  j 
no  :  but  of  a  great  equality, — only  that  he  possessed  a  stranjn 
skill  en'  using,  of  classifying  his  facts,  which  we  lacked.  For, 
notwithstanding  our  utter  incapacity  to  produce  anything  like 
Hamlet  and  Othello,  see  the  perfect  reception  this  wit,  and  im- 
mense knowledge  of  life,  and  liquid  eloquence  find  in  us  all. 

If  you  gather  apples  in  the  sunshine,  or  make  hay,  or  hoe 
corn,  and  then  retire  within  doors,  and  shut  your  eyes,  and 
press  them  with  your  hand,  you  shall  still  see  apples  hanging 
in  the  bright  light,  with  boughs  and  leaves  thereto,  or  the  tas- 
eelled  grass,  or  the  corn-flags,  and  this  for  five  or  six  hours 
afterwards.  There  lie  the  impressions  on  the  retentive  organ, 
though  you  knew  it  not.  So  lies  the  whole  series  of  natural 
images  with  which  your  life  has  made  you  acquainted,  in  your 
memory,  though  you  know  it  not,  and  a  thrill  of  passion 
flashes  light  on  their  dark  chamber,  and  the  active  power 
seizes  instantly  the  fit  image,  as  the  word  of  its  momentary 
thought. 

It  is  long  ere  we  discover  how  rich  we  are.  Our  history,  we 
are  sure,  is  quite  tame.  We  have  nothing  to  write,  nothing 
to  infer.  But  our  wiser  years  still  run  back  to  the  despised 
recollections  of  childhood,  and  always  we  are  fishing  up  some 
wonderful  article  out  of  that  pond ;  until,  by-and-by,  we  begifc 
to  suspect  that  the  biography  of  the  one  foolish  person  we 
know,  is,  in  realty,  nothing  less  than  the  miniature  paraphrase 
of  th-  hundred  volumes  of  the  Universal  History. 
I  In  the  intellect  constructive,  which  we  popularly  designate 
by  the  word  Genius,  we  observe  the  same  balance  of  two 
elements,  as  in  intellect  receptive.  The  constructive  intellect 
produces  thoughts,  sentences,  poems,  plans,  designs,  systems. 
It  is  the  generation  of  the  mind,  the  marriage  of  thought  with 
nature.  To  genius  must  always  go  two  gifts,  the  thought  and 
the  publication.  The  first  is  revelation,  always  a  miracle, 
which  no  frequency  of  occurrence,  or  incessant  study  can  ever 
familiarize,  but  which  must  always  leave  the  inquirer  stupid 
with  wonder-  I*  te  the  id-°nt.  of  truth  into  the  world,  s  form 


g§D  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

of  thought  now,  for  the  first  time,  bursting  into  the  universe, 
a  child  ot  tLe  old  eternal  soul,  a  piece  of  genuine  and  im- 
measurable greatness.  It  seems,  for  the  time,  to  inherit  all 
that  has  yet  existed,  and  to  dictate  to  the  unborn.  It  aflects 
eveiy  thought  of  man,  and  goes  to  fashion  every  institution- 
"But  to  make  it  available,  it  needs  a  vehicle  or  art  by  which  '* 
is  conveyed  to  men.  To  be  communicable,  it  must  become 
picture  or  sensible  object.  We  must  learn  the  language  of 
facts.  The  most  wonderful  inspirations  die  with  their  subject 
if  he  has  no  hand  to  paint  them  to  the  senses.  The  ray  oi 
light  passes  invisible  through  space,  and  only  when  it  falls  on 
an  object  is  it  seen.  When  the  spiritual  energy  is  directed  on 
something  outward,  then  is  it  a  thought.  The  relation  be- 
tween it  and  you,  first  makes  you,  the  value  of  you,  apparent 
to  me.  The  rich,  inventive  genius  of  the  painter  must  bo 
smothered  and  lost  for  want  of  the  power  of  drawing,  and  in 
our  happy  hours,  we  should  be  inexhaustible  poets,  if  once  we 
could  break  through  the  silence  into  adequate  rhyme.  As  all 
men  have  some  access  to  primary  truth,  so  all  have  some  art 
or  power  of  communication  in  their  head,  but  only  in  the 
artist  does  it  descend  into  the  hand.  There  is  an  inequality 
whose  laws  we  do  not  yet  know,  between  two  men 
and  between  two  moments  of  the  same  man,  in  respect 
to  this  faculty.  In  common  hours,  we  have  the  same 
facts  as  in  the  uncommon  or  inspired,  but  they  do  not  sit  for 
their  portraits,  they  are  not  detached,  but  lie  in  a  web.  The 
thought  of  genius  is  spontaneous  ;  but  the  power  of  picture  or 
expression,  in  the  most  enriched  and  flowing  nature,  implies  a 
mixture  of  will,  a  certain  control  over  the  spontaneous  states, 
without  which  no  production  is  possible.  It  is  a  conversion 
of  all  nature  into  the  rhetoric  of  thought,  under  the  eye  of 
judgment,  with  a  strenuous  exercise  of  choice.  And  yet  thi 
Imaginative  vocabulary  seems  to  be  spontaneous  also.  It  does 
jot  flow  from  experience  only  or  mainly,  but  from  a  richet 
source.  Not  by  any  conscious  imitation  of  particular  forms 
are  the  grand  strokes  of  the  painter  executed,  but  by  repair- 
ing to  the  fountain-head  of  all  forms  in  his  mind.  \Vhois  the 
first  drawing-master?  Without  instruction  we  know  very 
well  the  ideal  of  the  human  form.  A  child  knows  if  an  arm 
or  leg  be  distorted  in  a  picture,  if  the  attitude  be  natural,  or 
grand,  or  mean,  though  he  has  never  received  &ny  instruction 
in  drawing,  or  heard  any  conversation  on  the  subject,  nor  can 
himself  draw  with  correctness  a  single  feature.  A  good  form 
strikes  all  eyes  pleasantly,  long  before  they  have  any  science 
on  the  subject,  and  a  beautiful  face  sets  twenty  hearts  is 


INTELLECt  ig) 

palpitation,  prW  to  all  consideration  of  the  mechanical  pro 
portions  of  the  feat*-"!,  ,nd  head.  We  may  owe  to  dreams 
some  light  on  the  fountain  of  this  skill ;  for,  as  soon  as  we  let 
our  will  go,  and  let  the  unconscious  states  ensue,  see  what 
cunning  draughtsmen  we  are  1  We  entertain  ourselves  with 
Wonderful  forms  of  men,  of  women,  of  animals,  of  gardens,  of 
Woods,  and  of  monsters,  and  the  mystic  pencil  wherewith  w< 
then  draw,  has  no  awkwardness  or  inexperience,  no  meagre 
ness  or  poverty ;  it  can  design  well,  and  group  well ;  its  com 
position  is  full  of  art,  its  colors  are  well  laid  on,  and  the  whole 
canvas  which  it  paints,  is  lifelike,  and  apt  to  touch  us  with 
terror,  with  tenderness,  with  desire,  and  with  grief.  Neither 
are  the  artist's  copies  from  experience,  ever  mere  copies,  but 
always  touched  and  softened  by  tints  from  this  ideal  domain. 

The  conditions  essential  to  a  constructive  mind,  do  not 
appear  to  be  so  often  combined  but  that  a  good  sentence  or 
verse  remains  fresh  and  memorable  for  a  long  time.  Yet  when 
we  write  with  ease,  and  come  out  into  the  free  air  of  thought, 
We  seem  to  be  assured  that  nothing  is  easier  than  to  continue 
this  communication  'at  pleasure.  Up,  down,  around,  the 
kingdom  of  thought  has  no  enclosures,  but  the  Muse  makes  us 
free  of  her  city.  Well,  the  world  has  a  million  writers.  One 
would  think,  then,  that  good  thought  would  be  as  familiar  as 
air  and  water,  and  the  gifts  of  each  new  hour  would  exclude 
the  last.  Yet  we  can  count  all  our  good  books ;  nay,  I  re- 
member any  beautiful  verse  for  twenty  years.  It  is  true  that 
the  discerning  intellect  of  the  world  is  always  greatly  in 
advance  of  the  creative,  so  that  always  there  are  many  com- 
petent judges  of  the  best  book,  and  few  writers  of  the  best 
books.  But  some  of  the  conditions  of  intellectual  construction 
are  of  rare  occurrence.  The  intellect  is  a  whole,  and  demands 
integrity  in  every  work.  This  is  resisted  equally  by  a  man's 
devotion  to  a  single  thought,  and  by  his  ambition  to  combine 
too  many. 

Truth  is  our  element,  or  life,  yet  if  a  man  fastens  his  atten- 
tion on  a  single  aspect  of  truth,  and  apply  himself  to  that 
alone  for  a  long  time,  the  truth  becomes  distorted  and  not 
itself,  but  falsehood  ;  herein  resembling  the  air,  which  is  our 
natural  element,  and  the  breath  of  our  nostrils,  but  if  a  stream 
of  the  same  be  directed  on  the  body  for  a  time,  it  causes  cold, 
fever,  and  even  death.  How  wearisome  the  grammarian,  the 
phrenologist,  the  political  or  religious  fanatic,  or  indeed  any 
possessed  mortal,  whose  balance  is  lost  by  thi  exaggeration 
of  a  single  topic.  It  is  incipient  insanity.  Every  thought  Is 
ft  prison  also  *  cannot  see  what  you  see,  becauat  1  am 


]82  EMERSON'S  ESSAY& 

caught  ap  by  a  strong  wind  and  blown  so  far  in  one  direction, 
that  I  am  out  of  the  hoop  of  your  horizon. 

Is  it  any  better,  if  the  student,  to  avoid  this  offence,  and  to 
liberalize  himself,  aims  to  make  a  mechanical  whole,  of  history, 
or  science,  or  philosophy,  by  a  numerical  addition  of  all  the 
facts  that  fall  within  his  vision  ?  The  world  refuses  to  be 
analyzed  by  addition  and  subtraction.  When  we  are  young, 
we  spv  IP.  1  much  time  and  pains  in  filling  our  note-books  with 
all  d'.;:...:.iuns  of  Religion,  Love,  Poetry,  Politics,  Art,  in  the 
tope  i hut  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  we  shall  have  con- 
densed into  our  encyclopedia,  the  net  value  of  all  the  theories 
at  which  the  world  has  yet  arrived.  But  year  after  year  our 
tables  get  no  completeness,  and  at  last  we  discover  that  our 
curve  is  a  parabola,  whose  arcs  will  never  meet. 

Neither  by  detachment,  neither  by  aggregation,  is  the  in- 
U^rity  of  the  intellect  transmitted  to  its  works,  but  by  a 
vigilance  which  brings  the  intellect  in  its  greatness  and  best 
state  to  operate  every  moment.  It  must  have  the  same 
wholeness  which  nature  has.  Although  no  diligence  can  re- 
build the  universe  in  a  model,  by  the  best  accumulation  or  dis- 
position of  details,  yet  does  the  world  reappear  in  miniature 
In  every  event,  so  that  all  the  laws  of  nature  may  be  read  in 
the  smallest  fact.  The  intellect  must  have  the  like  perfection 
in  its  apprehension,  and  in  its  works.  For  this  reason,  an  index 
or  mercury  of  intellectual  proficiency  is  the  perception  of 
identity.  We  talk  with  accomplished  persons  who  appear  to 
be  strangers  in  nature.  The  cloud,  the  tree,  the  turf,  the  bird 
are  not  theirs,  have  nothing  of  them  :  the  world  is  only  their 
lodging  and  table.  But  the  poet,  whose  verses  are  to  be 
spheral  and  complete,  is  one  whom  nature  cannot  deceive, 
whatsoever  face  of  strangeness  she  may  put  on.  He  feels  a 
Strict  consanguinity,  and  detects  more  likeness  than  variety  in 
all  her  changes.  We  are  stung  by  the  desire  for  new  thought, 
but  wh,jn  we  receive  a  new  thought,  it  is  only  the  old  thought 
with  a  new  lace,  and  though  we  make  it  our  own,  we  instantly 
crave  another  ;  we  are  not  really  enriched.  For  the  truth  was 
In  us,  before  it  was  reflected  to  us  from  natural  objects ;  and 
the  profound  genius  will  cast  the  likeness  of  all  creatures  into 
every  product  of  his  wit. 

But  if  the  constructive  powers  are  rare,  and  it  is  given  to 
few  men  to  be  poets,  yet  every  man  is  a  receiver  of  this  de- 
scending holy  ghost,  and  may  well  study  the  laws  of  its  in- 
flux. Exactly  parallel  is  the  whole  rule  of  intellectual  duty, 
to  the  rule  of  moral  duty.  A  self-denial,  no  less  austere  than 
the  saint's,  fe  demanded  of  toe  scholar.  He  must 


INTELLECT.  jga 

*ruth,  and  forego  all  things  for  that,  and  choose  defeat  and 
pain,  so  that  his  treasure  in  thought  is  thereby  augmented. 

God  offers  to  every  mind  its  choice  between  truth  and  re* 
pose.  Take  which  you  please,— you  can  never  have  both. 
Between  these,  as  a  pendulum,  man  oscillates  ever.  He  U 
whom  the  love  of  repose  predominates,  will  accept  the  first 
creed,  the  first  philosophy,  the  first  political  party  he  meets,— L- 
most  likely,  his  father's.  He  gets  rest,  commodity,  and  repu. 
tation ;  bat  he  shuts  the  door  of  truth.  He  in  whom  the  lovt 
•\  truth  predominates,  will  keep  himself  aloof  from  all  moor 
Ings  and  afloat.  He  will  abstain  from  dogmatism,  and  recog 
jiize  all  the  opposite  negations  between  which,  as  walls,  his  be- 
ing is  swung.  He  submits  to  the  inconvenience  of  suspense 
and  imperfect  opinion,  but  he  is  a  candidate  for  truth,  as  thf 
other  is  not,  and  respects  the  highest  law  of  his  being, 

The  circle  of  the  green  earth  he  must  measure  with  his 
shoes,  to  find  the  man  who  can  yield  him  truth.  He  shall  then 
know  that  there  is  somewhat  more  blessed  and  great  in  hear- 
ing than  in  speaking.  Happy  is  the  hearing  man  :  unhappy 
the  speaking  man.  As  long  as  I  hear  truth,  I  am  bathed  by 
a  beautiful  element,  and  am  not  conscious  of  any  limits  to 
my  nature.  The  suggestions  are  thousandfold  that  I  hear 
and  see.  The  waters  of  the  great  deep  have  ingress  and 
egress  to  the  soul.  But  if  I  speak,  I  define,  I  confine,  and 
am  less.  When  Socrates  speaks,  Lysis  and  Menexenus  are 
afflicted  by  no  shame  that  they  do  not  speak.  They  also  are 
good.  He  likewise  defers  to  them,  loves  them,  whilst  he 
speaks.  Because  a  true  and  natural  man  contains  and  is  the 
same  truth  which  an  eloquent  man  articulates :  but  in  the 
eloquent  man,  because  he  can  articulate  it,  it  seems  something 
the  less  to  reside,  and  he  turns  to  these  silent  beautiful  with 
the  more  inclination  and  respect.  The  ancient  sentence  said, 
Let  us  be  silent,  for  so  are  the  gods.  Silence  is  a  solvent 
that  destroys  personality,  and  gives  us  leave  to  be  great  and 
universal.  Every  man's  progress  is  through  a  succession  of 
teachers,  each  of  whom  seems  at  the  time  to  have  a  superlative 
influence,  but  it  at  last  gives  place  to  a  new.  Frankly  let  him 
accept  it  all.  Jesus  says,  Leave  father,  mother,  house  and 
lands,  and  follow  me.  Who  leaves  all,  receives  more.  This 
is  as  true  intellectually,  as  morally.  Each  new  mind  we  ap. 
proach,  seems  to  require  an  abdication  of  all  our  past  and 
present  possessions.  A  new  doctrine  seems,  at  first,  a  subver- 
sion of  all  our  opinions,  tastes,  and  manner  of  living.  Such 
has  Swedenborg,  such  has  Kant,  such  has  Coleridge,  such  haa 
Cousin  seemed  to  many  young  men  ia  this  country.  Takl 


UU  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

thankfully  and  heartily  all  they  can  give.  Exhaust  them, 
wrestle  with  them,  let  them  not  go  until  thek  blessing  be 
won,  and  after  a  short  season,  the  dismaj-  will  be  overpast,  the 
excess  of  influence  withdrawn,  and  they  will  be  no  longer  an 
alarming  meteor,  but  one  more  bright  star  shining  serenely  in 
your  heaven,  and  blending  its  light  with  all  your  day. 

But  whilst  he  gives  himself  up  unreservedly  to  that  which 
draws  him,  because  that  is  his  own,  he  is  to  refuse  himself  to 
ihat  which  draws  him  not,  whatsoever  fame  and  authority 
may  attend  it,  because  it  is  not  his  own.  Entire  self-reliance 
belongs  to  the  intellect.  One  soul  is  a  counterpoise  of  all 
souls,  as  a  capillarj1-  column  of  water  is  a  balance  for  the  sea, 
It  must  treat  things,  and  books,  and  sovereign  genius,  as  it- 
self also  a  sovereign.  If  ^Eschylus  be  that  man  he  is  taken 
for,  he  has  not  yet  done  his  ofiice,  when  he  has  educated  the 
learned  of  Europe  for  a  thousand  years.  He  is  now  to  approve 
himself  a  master  of  delight  to  me  also.  If  he  cannot  do  that, 
all  his  fame  shall  avail  him  nothing  with  me.  I  were  a  fool 
not  to  sacrifice  a  thousand  J^sclryluses  to  my  intellectual  in« 
tegrity.  Especially  take  the  same  ground  in  regard  to  ab- 
stract truth,  the  science  of  the  mind.  The  Bacon,  the 
Spinoza,  the  Hume,  Schelling,  Kant,  or  whosoever  propounds 
to  you  a  philosophy  of  the  mind,  is  only  a  more  or  less  awk- 
ward translator  of  things  in  your  consciousness,  which  you 
have  also  your  way  of  seeing,  perhaps  of  denominating.  Say 
then,  instead  of  too  timidly  poring  into  his  obscure  sense,  that 
he  has  not  succeeded  in  rendering  back  to  you  your  conscious- 
ness. He  has  not  succeeded  ;  now  let  another  try.  If  Plato 
cannot,  perhaps  Spinoza  will.  If  Spinoza  cannot,  then  per« 
haps  Kant.  Any  how,  when  at  last  it  is  done,  you  will  find  it 
b  no  recondite,  but  a  simple,  natural,  common  state,  which  the 
writer  restores  to  you. 

But  let  us  end  these  didactics.  I  will  not,  though  the  sub- 
ject might  provoke  it,  speak  to  the  open  question  between 
Truth  and  Love.  I  shall  not  presume  to  interfere  in  the  old 
politics  of  the  skies ;  "  The  cherubim  know  most ;  the  sera- 
phim  love  most."  The  gods  shall  settle  their  own  quarrels. 
But  I  cannot  recite,  even  thus  rudely,  laws  of  the  intellect, 
without  remembering  that  lofty  and  sequestered  class  of  men 
who  have  been  its  prophets  and  oracles,  the  high  priesthood  of 
the  pure  reason,  the  Trismegisti,  the  expounders  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  thought  from  age  to  age.  When  at  long  intervals, 
we  turn  over  their  abtruse  pages,  wonderful  seems  the  calm 
and  grand  air  of  these  few,  these  great  spiritual  lords,  who 
tore  walked  in  the  world,— these  of  the  old  religion,— dwelt 


X8TELLEW  & 

ing  in  a  worship  which  makes  the  sanctlMea  o*  cmnstianity 
look  parvenues  and  popular ;  for  "  persuasion  ib  in  soul,  but 
necessity  is  in  intellect."  This  band  of  grandees,  Hermes, 
Heraditus,  Empedocles,  Plato,  Plotinus,  Olympiodorus,  Pro. 
clus,  Synesius,  and  the  rest,  have  somewhat  so  vast  in  theif 
logic,  so  primary  in  their  thinking,  that  it  seems  antecedent  to 
all  the  ordinary  distinctions  of  rhetoric  and  literature,  and  to 
be  at  once  poetry,  and  music,  and  dancing,  and  astronomy, 
and  mathematics.  I  am  present  at  the  sowing  of  the  seed  d 
the  world.  With  a  geometry  of  sunbeams,  the  soul  lays  the 
foundations  of  nature.  The  truth  and  grandeur  of  their 
thought  is  proved  by  its  scope  and  applicability,  for  it  com- 
mands the  entire  schedule  and  inventory  of  things,  for  its  il- 
lustration. But  what  marks  its  elevation,  and  has  even  a 
comic  look  to  us,  is  the  innocent  serenity  with  which  these 
babe-like  Jupiters  sit  in  their  clouds,  and  from  age  to  age 
prattle  to  each  other,  and  to  no  contemporary.  Well  assured 
that  their  speech  is  intelligible,  and  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world,  they  add  thesis  to  thesis,  without  a  moment's  heed 
of  the  universal  astonishment  of  the  human  race  below,  who 
do  not  comprehend  their  plainest  argument ;  nor  do  they  ever 
relent  so  much  as  to  insert  a  popular  or  explaining  sentence; 
nor  testify  the  least  displeasure  or  petulance  at  the  dulness  of 
their  armized  auditory.  The  angels  are  so  enamored  of  the 
language  that  is  spoken  in  heaven,  that  they  will  not  distort 
their  lips  with  the  hissing  and  unmusical  dialects  of  men,  but 
«peak  their  own,  whether  there  be  any  who  understand  it  or 
aot. 


ESSAY  Xtt, 
ART. 


BECAUSE  tne  soul  is  progressive,  it  never  quite  repeats  itseli, 
tout  in  every  act  attempts  the  production  of  a  new  and  fairer 
Whole.  This  appears  in  works  both  of  the  useful  and  the  fine 
arts,  if  we  employ  the  popular  distinction  of  works  according 
to  their  aim,  either  at  use  or  beauty.  Thus  in  our  fine  arts, 
not  imitation,  but  creation  is  the  aim.  In  landscapes,  the 
painter  should  give  the  suggestion  of  a  fairer  creation  than  we 
know.  The  details,  the  prose  of  nature  he  should  omit,  and 
give  us  only  the  spirit  and  splendor.  He  should  know  tbat 
the  landscape  has  beauty  for  his  eye,  because  it  expresses  a 
thought  which  is  to  him  good:  and  this,  because  the  same 
power  which  sees  through  his  eyes,  is  seen  in  that  spectacle ; 
and  he  will  come  to  value  the  expression  of  nature,  and  not 
nature  itself,  and  so  exalt  in  his  copy,  the  features  that  please 
him.  He  will  give  the  gloom  of  gloom,  and  the  sunshine  of 
sunshine.  In  a  portrait,  he  must  inscribe  the  character,  and 
not  the  features,  and  must  esteem  the  man  who  sits  to  him  aa 
himself  only  an  imperfect  picture  or  likeness  of  the  aspiring 
original  within. 

What  is  that  abridgment  and  selection  we  observe  in  all 
spiritual  activity,  but  itself  the  creative  impulse  ?  for  it  is  the 
inlet  of  that  higher  illumination  which  teaches  to  convey  a 
larger  sense  by  simpler  symbols.  What  is  a  man  but  nature's 
finer  success  in  self-explication  ?  What  is  a  man  but  a  finer 
and  compacter  landscape,  than  the  horizon  figures  ;  nature's 
eclecticism  ?  and  what  is  his  speech,  his  love  of  painting,  love 
of  nature,  but  a  still  finer  success  ?  all  the  weary  miles  and 
tons  of  space  and  bulk  left  out,  and  the  spirit  or  moral  of  it 
contracted  into  a  musical  word,  or  the  most  cunning  stroke  of 
the  pencil?  But  the  artist  must  employ  the  symbols  in  use 
in  his  day  and  nation,  to  convey  his  enlarged  sense  to  hi* 
fellow-men.  Thus  the  new  in  art  is  always  formed  out  of  the 
old.  The  Genius  of  the  Hour  always  sets  his  ineffaceable  seal 
on  the  work,  and  gives  it  an  inexpressible  charm  for  the  im- 
agination. As  far  as  the  spiritual  character  of  the  period 

CM 


jflD  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

overpowefs  the  artist,  and  finds  expression  in  his  work,  so  tat 
it  will  always  retain  a  certain  grandeur,  and  will  represent  to 
future  beholders  the  Unknown,  the  Inevitable,  the  Divine. 
No  man  can  quite  exclude  this  element  of  Necessit}7  from  his 
labor.  No  man  can  quite  emancipate  himself  from  his  age 
and  country,  or  produce  a  model  in  which  the  education,  the 
religion,  the  politics,  usages,  and  arts,  of  his  times  shall  have 
no  share.  Though  he  were  never  so  original,  never  so  wilfu? 
and  fantastic,  he  cannot  wipe  out  of  his  work  every  trace  of 
the  thoughts  amidst  which  it  grew.  The  very  avoidance  be 
trays  the  usage  he  avoids.  Above  his  will,  and  out  of  his 
sight,  he  is  necessitated,  by  the  air  he  breathes,  and  the  idea  on 
which  he  and  his  contemporaries  live  and  toil,  to  share  the 
manner  of  his  times,  without  knowing  what  that  manner  is. 
Now  that  which  is  inevitable  in  the  work,  has  a  higher  charm 
than  individual  talent  can  ever  give,  inasmuch  as  the  artist's 
pen  or  chisel  seems  to  have  been  held  and  guided  by  a  gigantic 
hand  to  inscribe  a  line  in  the  history  of  the  human  race.  This 
circumstance  gives  a  value  to  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  to 
the  Indian,  Chinese,  and  Mexican  idols,  however  gross  and 
shapeless.  They  denote  the  height  of  the  human  soul  in  tnat 
oour,  and  were  not  fantastic,  but  sprung  from  a  necessity  as 
deep  as  the  world.  Shall  I  now  add  that  the  whole  extant 
product  of  the  plastic  arts  has  herein  its  highest  value,  as  his* 
tory  ;  as  a  stroke  drawn  in  the  portrait  of  that  fate,  perfect 
and  beautiful,  according  to  whose  ordinations  all  beings  ad- 
vance to  their  beatitude. 

Thus,  historically  viewed,  it  has  been  the  office  of  art  to 
educate  the  perception  of  beauty.  We  are  immersed  in  beauty, 
but  pur  eyes  have  no  clear  vision.  It  needs,  by  the  exhibition 
of  single  traits,  to  assist  and  lead  the  dormant  taste.  We 
carve  and  paint,  or  we  behold  what  is  carved  and  painted,  as 
students  of  the  mystery  of  Form.  The  virtue  of  art  lies  in 
detachment,  in  sequestering  one  object  from  the  embarrassing 
variety.  Until  one  thing  comes  out  from  the  connection  of 
things,  there  can  be  enjoyment,  contemplation,  but  no  thought. 
Our  happiness  and  unhappiness  are  unproductive.  The  infant 
lies  in  a  pleasing  trance,  but  his  individual  character,  and  his 
practical  power  depend  on  his  daily  progress  in  the  separation 
of  things,  and  dealing  with  one  at  a  time.  Love  and  all  the 
passions  concentrate  all  existence  around  a  single  form.  It  is 
the  habit  of  certain  minds  to  give  an  all-excluding  fulness  to 
the  object,  the  thought,  the  word,  they  alight  upon,  and  to 
make  that  for  the  time  the  deputy  of  the  world.  These  are 
the  artists,  the  orators,  the  leaders  of  society.  The  power  to 


AN. 


191 


fletach,  and  to  magnify  by  detaching,  is  the  essence  of  rhetoric 
in  the  hands  of  the  orator  and  the  poet.  This  rhetoric,  or 
power  to  fix  the  momentary  emiuency  of  an  object,  so  remark- 
able in  Burke,  in  Byron,  in  Carlyle,— the  painter  and  sculptor 
exhibit  in  color  and  in  stone.  The  power  depends  on  the 
depth  of  the  artist's  insight  of  that  object  he  contemplates. 
For  every  object  has  its  roots  in  central  nature,  and  may  of 
course  be  so  exhibited  to  us  as  to  represent  the  world.  There, 
fore,  each  work  of  genius  is  the  tyrant  of  the  hour,  and  con- 
centrates attention  on  itself.  For  the  time,  it  is  the  only  thing 
Worth  naming,  to  do  that, — be  it  a  sonnet,  an  opera,  a  land- 
scape,  a  statue,  an  oration,  the  plan  of  a  temple,  of  a  cam- 
paign,  or  of  a  voyage  of  discovery.  Presently  we  pass  to  some 
other  object,  which  rounds  itself  into  a  whole,  as  did  the  first; 
for  example,  a  well  laid  garden:  and  nothing  seems  worth 
doing  but  the  laying  out  of  gardens.  I  should  think  fire  the 
best  thing  in  the  world,  if  I  were  not  acquainted  with  air,  and 
water,  and  earth.  For  it  is  the  right  and  property  of  all 
natural  objects,  of  all  genuine  talents,  of  all  native  properties 
whatsoever,  to  be  for  their  moment  the  top  of  the  world.  A 
squirrel  leaping  from  bough  to  bough,  and  making  the  wood 
but  one  wide  tree  for  his  pleasure,  fills  the  eye  not  less  than 
a  lion,  is  beautiful,  self-sufficing,  and  stands  then  and  there 
for  nature.  A  good  ballad  draws  my  ear  and  heart  whilst  I 
listen,  as  much  as  an  epic  has  done  before.  A  dog,  drawn  by 
a  master,  or  a  litter  of  pigs,  satisfies,  and  is  a  reality  not  less 
than  the  frescoes  of  Angelo.  From  this  succession  of  excel- 
lent objects,  learn  we  at  last  the  immensity  of  the  world,  the 
opulence  of  human  nature,  which  can  run  out  to  infinitude  in 
any  direction.  But  I  also  learn  that  what  astonished  and  fas. 
cinated  me  in  the  first  work,  astonished  me  in  the  second  work 
also,  that  excellence  of  all  things  is  one. 

The  office  of  painting  and  sculpture  seems  to  be  merely  ini 
Hal.  The  best  pictures  can  easily  tell  us  their  last  secret 
?he  best  pictures  are  rude  draughts  of  a  few  of  the  miracu- 
lous dots  and  lines  and  dyes  which  make  up  the  ever-changing 
"  landscape  with  figures  "  amidst  which  we  dwell.  Painting 
seems  to  be  to  the  eye  what  dancing  is  to  the  limb?  When 
that  has  educated  the  frame  to  self-possession,  to  nimbleness, 
to  grace,  the  steps  of  the  dancing-master  are  better  forgotten ; 
so  painting  teaches  me  the  splendor  of  color  and  the  expres- 
sion  of  form,  and,  as  I  see  many  pictures  and  higher  genius  in 
the  art,  I  see  the  boundless  opulence  of  the  pencil,  the  indif- 
ferency  in  which  the  artist  stands  free  to  choose  out  of  the 
possible  forms.  If  he  can  draw  every  thing,  why  draw  any 


19}  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

thing?  and  then  is  my  eye  opened  to  the  eternal  picture  whig** 
nature  paints  in  the  street  with  moving  men  and  children,, 
beggars,  and  fine  ladies,  draped  in  red,  and  green,  and  blue,  ai*§ 
gray ;  long-haired,  grizzled,  white-faced,  black-faced,  wrinkletii, 
giant,  dwarf,  expanded,  elfish, — capped  and  based  by  heaver 
earth,  and  sea. 

A  gallery  of  sculpture  teaches  more  austerely  the  sant* 
lesson.  As  picture  teaches  the  coloring,  so  sculpture  the  ana' 
omy  of  form.  When  I  have  seen  fine  statues,  and  afterward 
enter  a  public  assembly,  I  understand  well  what  he  meant  wb. 
said,  "  When  I  have  been  reading  Homer,  all  men  look  life  i 
giants."  I  too  see  that  painting  and  sculpture  are  gymnastic^ 
of  the  eye,  its  training  to  the  niceties  and  curiosities  of  itC 
function.  There  is  no  statue  like  this  living  man,  with  hig 
infinite  advantage  over  all  ideal  sculpture,  of  perpetual  variety 
What  a  gallery  of  art  have  I  here  !  No  mannerist  made  these 
varied  groups  and  diverse  original  single  figures.  Here  is  the 
artist  himself  improvising,  grim  and  glad,  at  his  block.  Now 
one  thought  strikes  him,  now  another,  and  with  each  moment 
he  alters  the  whole  air,  attitude  and  expression  of  his  clay. 
Away  with  your  nonsense  of  oil  and  easels,  of  marble  and 
chisels  :  except  to  open  your  eyes  to  the  witchcraft  of  eternal 
art,  they  are  hypocritical  rubbish. 

The  reference  of  all  production  at  last  to  an  Aboriginal 
Power,  explains  the  traits  common  to  all  works  of  the  highest 
art,  that  they  are  universally  intelligible ;  that  they  restore  to 
us  the  simplest  states  of  mind  ;  and  are  religious.  Since  what 
skill  is  therein  shown  is  the  reappearance  of  the  original  soul, 
a  jet  of  pure  light ;  it  should  produce  a  similar  impression  to 
mat  made  by  natural  objects.  In  happy  hours,  nature  ap- 
pears to  us  one  with  art ;  art  perfected, — the  work  of  genius. 
And  tLe  individual  in  whom  simple  tastes  and  susceptibility  to 
all  the  great  human  influences,  overpowers  the  accidents  ot  a 
local  and  special  culture,  is  the  best  critic  of  art.  Though  we 
travel  the  world  over  to  find  the  beautiful,  we  must  carry  it 
with  us,  or  we  find  it  not.  The  best  oJ  beauty  is  a  finer  charm 
than  skill  in  surfaces,  in  outlines,  or  rules  of  art  can  ever 
teach,  namely,  a  radiation  from  the  work  of  art,  o?  human 
character, — a  wonderful  expression  through  stone  or  canvas  or 
musical  sound  of  the  deepest  and  simplest  attributes  of  our  na- 
ture, and  therefore  most  intelligible  at  last  to  those  souls 
which  have  these  attributes.  In  the  sculptures  of  the  Greeks 
in  the  masonry  of  the  Romans,  and  in  the  pictures  of  the  TUB 
can  and  Venetian  masters,  the  highest  charm  is  the  universal 
language  they  speak  A  confession  of  moral  nature,  of  rarity 


fv  ,!  !:''p :» <»»«Me  tram  tnem  all  That  wnich  we  cany 
to  xhenij  t,l  s  same  we  bring  back  more  fairly  illustrated  in  tat 
memory.  The  traveller  who  visits  the  Vatican,  and  passes 
from  chamber  to  chamber  through  galleries  of  statues,  vases, 
sarcophagi,  and  candelabra,  through  all  forms  of  beauty,  cu 
in  the  richest  materials,  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  simplie 
ity  of  the  principles  out  of  which  they  all  sprung,  and  that 
they  had  their  origin  from  thoughts  and  laws  in  his  own 
breast.  He  studies  the  technical  rules  on  these  wonderful  re- 
mains, but  forgets  that  these  works  were  not  always  thus  con« 
stellated  ;  that  they  are  the  contributions  of  many  ages,  and 
many  countries ;  that  each  came  out  of  the  solitary  workshop 
of  one  artist,  who  toiled  perhaps  in  ignorance  of  the  existence 
of  other  sculpture,  created  his  work  without  other  model,  save 
life,  household  life,  and  the  sweet  and  smart  of  personal  rela/ 
tions,  of  beating  hearts,  and  meeting  eyes,  of  poverty,  and  ne- 
cessity, and  hope,  and  fear  These  were  his  inspirations,  and 
these  are  the  effects  he  carries  home  to  your  heart  and  mind. 
In  proportion  to  his  force,  tb/»  «jtist  will  find  in  his  work  an 
outlet  for  his  proper  character  Je  must  not  be  in  any  man* 
ner  pinched  or  hindered  by  bfs  material,  but  through  his  ne- 
cessity of  imparting  himself,  tae  adamant  will  be  wax  in  his 
hands,  and  will  allow  an  adequate  communication  of  himself  in 
his  full  stature  and  proportion.  Not  a  conventional  nature 
and  culture  need  he  cumber  himself  with,  nor  ask  what  is  the 
mode  in  Rome  or  in  Paris,  but  that  house,  and  weather,  and 
manner  of  living,  which  poverty  and  the  fete  of  birth  have 
made  at  once  so  odious  and  so  dear,  in  the  gray,  unpainted 
wood  cabin,  on  the  corner  of  a  New  Hampshire  farm,  or  in  the 
log  hut  of  the  backwoods,  or  in  the  narrow  lodging  where  hrt 
has  endured  the  constraints  and  seeming  of  a  city  poverty,— 
will  serve  as  well  as  any  ot.her  condition,  as  the  symbol  of  a 
thought  which  pours  itself  indifferently  through  alL 

I  remember,  when  in  my  younger  days,  I  had  hearu  o»  the 
Bonders  of  Italian  painting,  I  fancied  the  great  pictures  would 
be  great  strangers  ;  some  surprising  combination  of  color  and 
form  ;  a  foreign  wonder,  barbaric  pearl  and  goid,  like  the  spon 
toons  and  standards  of  the  militia,  which  play  such  pranks  in 
the  eyes  and  imaginations  of  schoolboys.  I  was  to  see  and 
acquire  I  knew  not  what.  When  I  came  at  last  to  Rome,  and 
saw  with  eyes  the  pictures,  I  found  that  genius  left  to  novices 
the  gay  and  fantastic  and  ostentatious,  and  itself  pierced  di- 
rectly to  the  simple  and  true ,  that  it  was  familiar  and  sin- 
oere  ;  that  it  was  the  old,  eternal  feet  I  had  met  already  in  so 
many  forms ;  unto  which  I  lived ;  that  it  was  tlw  plain  yarn 

19 


1M  &  ORSON'S  SSSAT& 

and  me  I  knew  so  well, — had  Left  at  home  in  so  many  conver- 
sations. I  hr.d  the  same  experience  already  in  a  church  at 
Naples.  There  I  saw  that  nothing  was  changed  with  me  but 
the  place,  and  said  to  myseL', — •  Thou  foolish  child,  hast  thou 
come  out  hither,  ovei  four  thousand  miles  of  salt  water,  to  find 
that  which  was  perfect  to  thee,  there  at  home  ? ' — that  fact  I 
saw  again  in  the  Academmia  at  Naples,  in  the  chambers  of 
sculpture,  and  yet  again  when  I  came  to  Rome,  and  to  the 
paintings  of  Raphael,  Angelo,  Sacchi,  Titian,  and  Leonardo  da 
Vinci.  "  What  old  mole  !  workest  thou  in  the  earth  so  fast  ?  " 
It  had  travelled  by  my  side :  that  which  I  fancied  I  had  left 
in  Boston,  was  here  in  the  Vatican,  and  again  at  Milan,  and 
at  Paris,  and  made  all  travelling  ridiculous  as  a  treadmill.  I 
now  require  this  of  all  pictures,  that  they  domesticate  me,  not 
that  they  dazzle  me.  Pictures  must  not  be  too  picturesque. 
Nothing  astonishes  men  so  much  as  common  sense  and  plain 
dealing.  All  great  actions  have  been  simple,  and  all  great 
pictures  are. 

The  Transfiguration,  by  Raphael,  is  an  eminent  example  of 
this  peculiar  merit.  A  calm,  benignant  beauty  shines  over  all 
this  picture,  and  goes  directly  to  the  heart.  It  seems  almost 
to  call  you  by  name.  The  sweet  and  sublime  face  of  Jesus  is 
beyond  praise,  yet  how  it  disappoints  all  florid  expectations ' 
This  familiar,  simple,  home-speaking  countenance,  is  as  if  one 
should  meet  a  friend.  The  knowledge  of  picture-dealers  has 
its  value,  but  listen  not  to  their  criticism  when  your  heart  is 
touched  by  genius.  It  was  not  painted  for  them,  it  was 
painted  for  you ;  for  such  as  had  eyes  capable  of  being  touched 
by  simplicity  and  lofty  emotions. 

Yet  when  we  have  said  all  our  fine  things  about  the  arts, 
we  must  end  with  a  frank  confession,  that  the  arts,  as  we  know 
them,  are  but  initial.  Our  best  praise  is  given  to  what  they 
armed  and  promised,  not  to  the  actual  result.  He  has  con- 
ceived  meanly  of  the  resources  of  man,  who  believes  that  the 
best  age  of  production  is  past.  The  real  value  of  the  Iliad,  01 
the  Transfiguration,  is  as  signs  of  power ;  billows  or  ripples 
they  are  of  the  great  stream  of  tendency  ;  tokens  of  the  ever^ 
lasting  effort  to  produce,  which  even  in  its  worst  estate,  the 
soul  betrays.  Art  has  not  yet  come  to  its  maturity,  if  it  do 
not  put  itself  abreast  with  the  most  potent  influences  of  the 
world,  if  it  is  not  practical  and  moral,  if  it  do  not  stand  in  con- 
nection  with  the  conscience,  if  it  do  not  make  the  poor  and  un- 
cultivated feel  that  it  addresses  them  with  a  voice  of  lofty 
cheer.  There  is  higher  work  for  A  rt  than  the  arts.  They  are 
abortive  births  of  an  imperiect  or  vitiated  instinct  Art  ia  the 


ART  1*5 

need  to  create ;  but  in  its  essence,  immense  and  universal,  it  ia 
impatient  of  -yorking  with  lame  or  tied  hands,  and  of  making 
cripples  and  monsters,  such  as  all  pictures  and  statues  are. 
Nothing  less  than  the  creation  of  man  and  nature  is  its  end. 
A  man  should  find  in  it  an  outlet  for  his  whole  energy.  He 
may  paint  and  carve  only  as  long  as  he  can  do  that.  Art 
should  exhilarate,  and  thro^  down  the  walls  of  circumstance 
on  every  side,  awakening  in  the  beholder  the  same  sense  of 
universal  relation  and  power  which  the  work  evinced  in  the 
artist,  and  its  highest  effect  is  to  make  new  artists. 

^  Already  History  is  old  enough  to  witness  the  old  agt  and 
disappearance  of  particular  arts.  The  art  of  sculpture  is  long 
ago  perished  to  any  real  effect.  It  was  originally  a  useful  art, 
a  mode  of  writing,  a  savage's  record  of  gratitude  or  devotion, 
and  among  a  people  possessed  of  a  wonderful  perception  of 
form,  this  childish  carving  was  refined  to  the  utmost  splendor 
of  effect.  But  it  is  the  game  of  a  rude  and  youthful  people, 
and  not  the  manly  labor  of  a  wise  and  spiritual  nation.  Un- 
der an  oak  tree  loaded  with  leaves  and  nuts,  under  a  sky  full 
of  eternal  eyes,  I  stand  in  a  thoroughfare ;  but  in  the  works  of 
our  plastic  arts,  and  especially  of  sculpture,  creation  is  driven 
into  a  corner.  I  cannot  hide  from  myself  that  there  is  a  cer- 
tain appearance  of  paltriness,  as  of  toys,  and  the  trumpery  of 
a  theatre,  in  sculpture.  Nature  transcends  all  our  moods  of 
thought,  and  its  secret  we  do  not  yet  find.  But  the  gallery 
stands  at  the  mercy  of  our  moods,  and  there  is  a  moment 
when  it  becomes  frivolous.  I  do  not  wonder  that  Newton,  with 
an  attention  habitually  engaged  on  the  path  of  planets  and 
suns,  should  have  wondered  what  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  found 
to  admire  in  "•  stone  dolls."  Sculpture  may  serve  to  teach  the 
pupil  how  deep  is  the  secret  of  form,  how  purely  the  spirit 
can  translate  its  meanings  into  that  eloquent  dialect.  But  the 
statue  will  look  cold  and  false  before  that  new  activity  whicb 
needs  to  roll  through  all  things,  and  is  impatient  of  counter 
feits,  and  things  not  alive.  Picture  and  sculpture  are  the 
celebrations  and  festivities  of  form.  But  true  art  is  never 
fixed,  but  always  flowing.  The  sweetest  music  is  not  in  the 
oratorio,  but  in  the  human  voice  when  it  speaks  from  its  in- 
stant life,  tones  of  tenderness,  truth,  or  courage.  The  oratorio 
has  already  lost  its  relation  to  the  morning,  to  the  sun,  and 
the  earth,  but  that  persuading  voice  is  in  tune  with  these.  All 
works  of  art  should  not  be  detached,  but  extempore  perform- 
ances. A  great  man  is  a  new  statue  in  every  attitude  and  ac- 
tion. A  beautiful  woman  is  a  picture  which  drives  all  oehold 


196  EMERSON1 8  ESSAYS 

ers  nobly  mau.     Life  may  be  lyric  or  epic,  as  well  as  a  noen 
•W  a  romance. 

A  true  announcement  of  the  law  of  creation,  if  a  ma,,  were 
found  worthy  to  declare  it,  would  carry  art  up  into  the  king. 
dom  of  nature,  arid  destroy  its  separate  and  coii:,:asted  exist* 
ence,     The  fountains  of  invention  and  beauty  in  modern  ea 
cicty  are  all  but  dried  up.     A  popular  novel,  a  theatre,  or  a 
'(fillrooin  makes  us  feel  that  we  are  all  paupers  in  the  alms 
.ouse  of  this  world,  without  dignity,  without  skill,  or  industry 
A.rt  is  as  poor  and  low.     The  old  tragic  Necessity,  whic-1;  : 
ere  on  the  brows  even  of  the  Venuses  and  the  Onpv'< 
j.ir.i(iUv    ana  furnishes  the  sole  apology  for  the  intrusion  Of 
*.:cl:    ^omaloiif   %ures  into  nature, — namely,  that  they  were 
..evitabie;  thaV    .ue  artist  was  drunk  with  a  prssion  for  form 
^nich  he  could  not  resist,  and  which  vented  itself  in  these  tin 
extravagancies, — no  longer  dignifies  tue  chisel  or  the  penes* 
Cut  the  artist,  and  the  connoisseur,  now  seek  in  art  the  esMr 
bit  on  of  their  talent,  or  an  asylum  from  the  evils  of  life.  Men 
?,rt   P    .  veil  pleased  with  the  figure  they  make  in  their  own 
jm.giujit.ion,  and  they  flee  to  art,  and  convey  their  better  sense 
.in  oratorio,  a  statue,  or  a  picture      A.rt  makes  the  game 
snort  which  a  sensual  prosperity  makes,  namely,  to  detach  the 
*>eautiful  from  the  useful,  to  do  up  the  work  as  unavoidable, 
And  hating  it,  pass  on  to  enjoyment.     These  solaces  and  com- 
pensations, this  division  of  beauty  from  use,  the  laws  of  natuir 
io  not  permit.     As  soon  as  beauty  is  sought  not  from  religion 
nd  love,  but   for   pleasure,  it   degrades   the   seeker.     High 
t..-:auty  is  no  longer  attainable  by  him  in  canvas  or  in  stone,  in 
sound,  or  in   lyrical   construction ;    an   effeminate   prudent, 
sickly  beauty,  which  is  not  beauty,  is  all  that  can  be  formed  • 
.  VT  the  hand  can  never  execute  anything  higher  than  the  char 
•tier  can  inspire. 

The  art  that  thus  separates,  i;  ^sell  first  separated.  Art 
Uust  not  be  a  superficial  talent,  but  must  begin  farther  back 
in  man.  Now  men  do  not  see  nr^ure  to  be  beautiful,  and  they 
go  to  make  a  statue  which  ph»n.  ^  They  abhor  men  as  taste- 
less, dull,  and  inconvertible,  an^_  sonsolo  themselves  with  color- 
bags,  and  blocks  of  marble.  They  reject  life  as  prosaic,  and 
create  a  death  which  they  call  poetic.  They  despatch  the 
day's  weary  chores,  and  fly  to  voluptuous  reveries.  They  eat 
wid  drink,  that  they  may  afterwards  execute  the  ideal.  Thus 
is  art  vilified ;  the  name  conveys  to  the  mind  its  secondary  and 
bad  senses ;  it  stands  in  the  imagination,  as  somewhat  con 
trary  to  nature,  and  struck  with  death  from  the  first.  Would 
fc  not  be  better  to  begin  higher  up,— to  ser-e  the  ideal  before 


they  eat  and  drink ;  to  serve  the  ideal  in  eating  and  drinking, 
in  drawing  the  breath,  and  in  the  functions  of  life?  Bea' 
must  come  back  to  the  useful  arts,  and  the  distinction  bet\v. 
the  fine  and  the  useful  arts  be  forgotten.  If  history  wei. 
truly  told,  if  life  were  nobly  spent,  it  would  be  no  longer  east 
or  possible  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  In  nature, 
all  is  useful,  all  is  beautiful.  It  is  therefore  beautiful,  because 
it  is  alive,  moving,  reproductive ;  it  is  therefore  useful,  because 
it  is  symmetrical  and  fair.  Beauty  will  not  come  at  the  cali 
of  a  legislature,  nor  will  it  repeat  in  England  or  America,  its 
history  in  Greece,  It  will  come,  as  always,  unannounced,  and 
spring  up  between  the  feet  of  brave  and  earnest  men.  It  if 
in  vain  that  we  look  for  genius  to  reiterate  its  miracles  in  thi 
old  arts ;  it  is  its  instinct  to  find  beauty  and  holiness  in  new 
and  necessary  facts,  in  the  field  and  roadside,  in  the  shop  and 
mill.  Proceeding  from  a  religious  heart  it  will  raise  to  a  di- 
vine use,  the  railroad,  the  insurance  office,  the  joint  stock 
company,  our  law,  our  primary  assemblies,  our  commerce,  the 
galvanic  battery,  the  electric  jar,  the  prism,  and  the  chemist's 
retort,  in  which  we  seek  now  only  an  economical  use.  Is  not 
the  selfish,  and  even  cruel  aspect  which  belongs  to  onr  great 
mechanical  works,  to  mills,  railways,  and  machinery,  the  effect 
of  the  mercenary  impulses  which  these  works  obey  ?  When 
its  errands  are  noble  and  adequate,  a  steamboat  bridging  the 
Atlantic  between  Old  and  New  England,  and  arriving  at  its 
ports  with  the  punctuality  of  a  planet, — is  a  step  of  man  into 
harmony  with  nature.  The  boat  at  St.  Petersburgh,  which 
plies  along  the  Lena  by  magnetism,  needs  little  to  make  it 
sublime.  When  science  is  learned  in  love,  and  its  powers  are 
wielded  by  love,  they  will  appear  the  iupplements  and  con- 
tinuations of  the  mateiial  creation. 


ESSAYS 


BY 

RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON 


SECOND    SERIES 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


n  binds  who  8QnS 
ivine  ideas  below, 
Which  always  find  us  younft 
And  always  keep  as  so. 


CONTENTS, 


£,0»AX     1. 

ftm 

ESSAY  IL 

EXPERIENCE    , 

ESSAY  IBL 

ESSAY  nr. 

ESSAY  V. 

GIFTS 

•               >              • 

*         .   61 

ESSAY  Tt 

NATURE           » 

* 

.       •          w 

ESSAY  VH. 

POLITICS 

•              •              •              • 

•          «          •  M6 

ESSAY  vra. 

NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST    .          .          .         . 

NEW  ENGLAND  REFOEMEB8. 
LKCTUBE  AT  AVOBY  HALL  .... 


THE  POET. 


A  moody  child  and  wildly  wise 

Pursued  the  game  with  joyful  eyes, 

Which  chose,  like  meteors,  their  way, 

And  rived  the  dark  with  private  ray 

They  overleapt  the  horizon's  edge, 

Searched  with  Apollo's  privilege  ; 

Through  man,  and  woman,  and  sea,  and  staff, 

Saw  the  dance  of  nature  forward  far ; 

Through  worlds,  and  races,  and  terms,  and  timct 

Saw  musical  order,  and  pairing  rhymes. 

(4) 


ESSAY  I. 
THE  POET. 


THOSE  who  are  esteemed  umpires  of  taste,  are  often  persont 
who  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of  admired  pictures  or 
sculptures,  and  have  an  inclination  for  whatever  is  elegant ; 
but  if  you  inquire  whether  they  are  beautiful  souls,  and 
whether  their  own  acts  are  like  fair  pictures,  you  learn  that 
they  are  selfish  and  sensual.  Their  cultivation  is  local,  as  if 
you  should  rub  a  log  of  dry  wood  in  one  spot  to  produce  fire 
all  the  rest  remaining  cold.  Their  knowledge  of  the  fine  arts 
is  some  study  of  rules  and  particulars,  or  some  limited  judg. 
ment  of  color  or  form,  which  is  exercised  for  amusement  or  for 
show.  It  is  a  proof  of  the  shallowness  of  the  doctrine  of 
beauty,  as  it  lies  in  the  minds  of  our  amateurs,  that  men  seem 
to  have  lost  the  perception  of  the  instant  dependence  of  form 
upon  soul.  There  is  no  doctrine  of  forms  in  our  philosophy. 
We  were  put  into  our  bodies,  as  fire  is  put  into  a  pan,  to  be 
carried  about ;  but  there  is  no  accurate  adjustment  between 
the  spirit  and  the  organ,  much  less  is  the  latter  the  germina- 
tion of  the  former.  So  in  regard  to  other  forms,  the  intellec- 
tual men  do  not  believe  in  any  essential  dependence  of  the 
material  world  on  thought  and  volition.  Theologians  think  it 
a  pretty  air-castle  to  talk  of  the  spiritual  meaning  of  a  ship  or 
a  cloud,  of  a  city  or  a  contract,  but  they  prefer  to  come  again 
to  the  solid  ground  of  historical  evidence  ;  and  even  the  poets 
are  contented  with  a  civil  and  conformed  manner  of  living, 
and  to  write  poems  from  the  fancy,  at  a  safe  distance  from 
their  own  experience.  But  the  highest  minds  of  the  woild 
have  never  ceased  to  explode  the  double  meaning,  or,  shall  I 
say,  the  quadruple,  or  the  centuple,  or  much  more  mnnil'old 
meaning,  of  every  sensuous  fact :  Orpheus,  Empedoclcs,  II  era- 
ditus,  Plato,  Plutarch,  Dante,  Swedenborg,  and  the  r 
of  sculpture,  picture,  and  poetry.  For  we  are  not  pnns  :ui«i 
barrows,  nor  even  porters  of  the  fire  and  torch-bean 
children  of  the  fire,  made  of  it,  and  only  the  same  divinity 
transmuted,  and  at  two  or  three  removes,  when  we  know  lonst 
about  it.  And  this  hidden  truth,  that  the  fountains  whence 
all  this  river  of  Time,  and  its  creatures,  floweth,  are  intrinsic- 


•  MEERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

ally  ideal  and  beautiful,  draws  us  to  the  consideration  of  the 
nature  and  functions  of  the  Poet,  or  the  man  of  Beauty,  to 
the  means  and  materials  he  uses,  and  to  the  general  aspect  of 
the  art  in  the  present  time. 

The  breadth  of  the  problem  is  great,  for  the  poet  is  repre- 
sentative. He  stands  among  partial  men  for  the  complete 
man,  and  apprises  us  not  of  his  wealth,  but  of  the  common- 
wealth. The  young  man  reveres  men  of  genius,  because,  to 
speak  truly,  they  are  more  himself  than  he  is.  They  receive 
of  the  soul  as  he  also  receives,  but  they  more.  Nature  en- 
hances her  beauty,  to  the  eye  of  loving  men,  from  their  belief 
that  the  poet  is  beholding  her  shows  at  the  same  time.  He  is 
isolated  among  his  contemporaries,  by  truth  and  by  his  art, 
but  with  this  consolation  in  his  pursuits,  that  they  will  draw 
all  men  sooner  or  later.  For  all  men  live  by  truth,  and  stand 
in  need  of  expression.  In  love,  in  art,  in  avarice,  in  politics, 
in  labor,  in  games,  we  study  to  utter  our  painful  secret.  The 
man  is  only  half  himself,  the  other  half  is  his  expression. 

Notwithstanding  this  necessity  to  be  published,  adequate  ex- 
pression is  rare.  I  know  not  how  it  is  that  we  need  an  inter- 
preter ;  but  the  great  majority  of  men  seem  to  be  minors,  who 
have  not  yet  come  into  possession  of  their  own,  or  mutes,  who 
cannot  report  the  conversation  they  have  had  with  nature. 
There  is  no  man  who  does  not  anticipate  a  supersensual  utility 
in  the  sun,  and  stars,  earth,  and  water.  These  stand  and  wait 
|to  render  him  a  peculiar  service.  But  there  is  some  obstruc- 
tion, or  some  excess  of  phlegm  in  our  constitution,  which  does 
not  suffer  them  to  yield  the  due  effect.  Too  feeble  fall  the 
impressions  of  nature  on  us  to  make  us  artists.  Every  touch 
should  thrill.  Every  man  should  be  so  much  an  artist,  that 
he  could  report  in  conversation  what  had  befallen  him.  Yet, 
in  our  experience,  the  rays  or  appulses  have  sufficient  force  to 
arrive  at  the  senses,  but  not  enough  to  reach  the  quick,  and 
compel  the  reproduction  of  themselves  in  speech.  The  poet 
is  the  person  in  whom  these  powers  are  in  balance,  the  man 
without  impediment,  who  sees  and  handles  that  which  others 
dream  of,  traverses  the  whole  scale  of  experience,  and  is  repre- 
sentative of  man,  in  virtue  of  being  the  largest  power  to  re- 
ceive and  to  impart. 

For  the  universe  has  three  children,  born  at  one  time,  whlcb 
reappear,  under  different  names,  in  every  system  of  thought, 
whether  they  be  called  cause,  operation,  and  effect ;  or,  more 
poetically,  Jove,  Pluto,  Neptune;  or,  theologically,  the 
Father,  the  Spirit,  and  the  Son;  but  which  we  will  call  here,  the 
Knower,  the  Doar  and  the  Saycr.  These  stand  respectively 


SE  POB2  f 

for  the  love  of  truta,  <or  tile   :v    of  good,  and  for  the  love  of 

beauty.  These  three  are  sq ....  Each  is  that  which  he  is  es- 
sentially, so  that  he  cannot  DC  surmounted  or  analyzed,  and 
each  of  these  three  has  the  power  of  the  others  latent  in  him. 
and  his  own  patent. 

The  poet  is  the  sayer,  the  namer,  and  represents  beauty. 
He  is  a  sovereign,  and  stands  on  the  centre.  For  the  world  is 
not  painted,  or  adorned,  but  is  from  the  beginning  beautiful  • 
and  God  L~.  not  made  some  beautiful  things,  but  Beauty  it 
the  creator  01  the  universe.  Therefore  the  poet  is  not  any 
permissive  potentate,  but  is  emperor  in  his  own  right.  Criti- 
cism is  infested  with  a  cant  of  materialism,  which  assumes  that 
manual  skill  and  activity  is  the  first  merit  of  all  men,  and  dis- 
parages such  as  say  and  do  not,  overlooking  the  fact  that  some 
men,  namely,  poets,  are  natural  sayers,  sent  into  the  world  to 
the  end  of  expression,  and  confounds  them  with  those  whose 
province  is  action,  but  who  quit  it  to  imitate  the  sayers.  But 
Homer's  words  are  as  costly  and  admirable  to  Homer,  as 
Agamemnon's  victories  are  to  Agamemnon.  The  poet  does 
not  wait  for  the  hero  or  the  sage,  but,  as  they  act  and  think 
primarily,  so  he  writes  primarily  what  will  and  must  be 
spoken,  reckoning  the  others,  though  primaries  also,  yet,  in 
respect  to  him,  secondaries  and  servants  ;  as  sitters  or  models 
in  the  studio  of  a  painter,  or  as  assistants  who  bring  building 
materials  to  an  architect. 

For  poetry  was  all  written  before  time  was,  and  whenever 
we  are  so  finely  organized  that  we  can  penetrate  into  that 
reg.'pn  where  the  air  is  music,  we  hear  those  primal  warblings, 
an<?  attempt  to  write  them  down,  but  we  lose  ever  and  anon  a 
word  or  a  verse,  and  substitute  something  of  our  own,  and 
thus  miswrite  the  poem.  The  men  of  more  delicate  ear  write 
down  these  cadences  more  faithfully,  and  these  transcripts, 
though  imperfect,  become  the  songs  of  the  nations.  For  na» 
turfc  is  as  truly  beautiful  as  it  is  good,  or  as  it  is  reasonable, 
and  must  as  much  appear,  as  it  must  be  done,  or  be  known. 
Words  and  deeds  are  quite  indifferent  modes  of  the  divine 
energy.  Words  are  also  actions,  and  actions  are  a  kind  of 
words. 

The  sign  and  credentials  of  the  poet  are,  that  he  announces 
that  which  no  man  foretold.  He  is  the  true  and  only  doctor; 
he  knows  and  tells  ;  he  is  the  only  teller  of  news,  for  he  waa 
present  and  privy  to  the  appearance  which  he  describes.  He 
is  a  beholder  of 'ideas,  and  an  utterer  of  the  necessary  and 
causal.  For  we  do  not  speak  now  of  men  of  poetical  talents, 
or  of  industry  and  skill  in  metre,  but  of  the  true  poet.  I  took 


6  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

part  in  a  conversation  the  other  day,  concerning  a  recent  writer 
of  lyrics,  a  man  of  subtle  mind,  whose  head  appeared  to  be  a 
music-box  of  delicate  tunes  and  rhythms,  and  whose  skill,  and 
command  of  language,  we  could  not  sufficiently  praise.  But 
•vhen  the  question  arose,  whether  he  was  not  only  a  lyrist,  but 
<i  poet,  we  were  obliged  to  confess  that  he  is  plainly  a  contem- 
porary, not  an  eternal  man.  He  does  not  stand  out  of  our  low 
limitations,  like  a  Chimborazo  under  the  line,  running  up  from 
the  torrid  base  through  all  the  climates  of  the  globe,  with  belts 
of  the  herbage  of  every  latitude  on  its  high  and  mottled  sides , 
but  this  genius  is  the  landscape-garden  of  a  modern  house, 
adorned  with  fountains  and  statues,  with  weli-bred  men  and 
women  standing  and  sitting  in  the  walks  and  terraces.  We 
hear,  through  all  the  varied  music,  the  ground-tone  of  conven- 
tional life.  Our  poets  are  men  of  talents  who  sing,  and  not 
the  children  of  music.  The  argument  is  secondary,  the  finish 
of  the  verses  is  primary. 

For  it  is  not  metres,  but  a  metre-making  argument,  that 
makes  a  poem, — a  thought  so  passionate  and  alive,  that,  like 
the  spirit  of  a  plant  or  an  animal,  it  has  an  architecture  of  its 
own,  and  adorns  nature  with  anew  thing.  The  thought  and 
the  form  are  equal  in  the  order  of  time,  but  in  the  order  of 
genesis  the  thought  is  prior  to  the  form.  The  poet  has  a  new 
thought :  he  has  a  whole  new  experience  to  unfold  ;  he  will  tell 
us  how  it  was  with  him,  and  all  men  will  be  the  richer  in  his 
fortune.  For,  the  experience  of  each  new  age  requires  a  new 
confession,  and  the  world  seems  always  waiting  for  its  poet. 
I  remember,  when  I  was  young,  how  much  I  was  moved  one 
morning  by  tidings  that  genius  had  appeared  in  a  youth  who 
sat  near  me  at  table.  He  had  left  his  work,  and  gone  rambling 
none  knew  whither,  and  had  written  hundreds  of  lines,  but 
could  not  tell  whether  that  which  was  in  him  was  therein  told  : 
he  could  tell  nothing  but  that  all  was  changed, — man,  beast, 
heaven,  earth,  and  sea.  How  gladly  we  listened !  how  credu- 
lous! Society  seemed  to  be  compromised.  We  sat  in  the 
aurora  of  a  sunrise  which  was  to  put  out  all  the  stars.  Boston 
seemed  to  be  at  twice  the  distance  it  had  the  night  before,  or 
was  much  ferther  than  that.  Rome, — what  was  Rome? 
Plutarch  and  Shakspeare  were  in  the  yellow  leaf,  and  Homer 
no  more  should  be  heard  of.  It  is  much  to  know  that  poetry 
has  been  written  this  very  day,  under  this  very  roof,  by  your 
side.  What!  that  wonderful  spirit  has  not  expired!  these 
stony  moments  are  still  sparkling  and  animated !  I  had  fan- 
cied that  the  oracles  were  all  silent,  and  nature  had  spent  her 
ire«,  and  behold !  all  night,  from  every  pore,  these  fine  aurorat 


THE  POET.  § 

have  been  streaming.  Every  one  has  some  interest  in  the 
advent  of  the  poet,  and  no  one  knows  how  much  it  may  coa- 
cern  him.  We  know  that  the  secret  of  the  world  is  profound 
but  who  or  what  shall  be  our  interpreter,  we  know  not.  A 
mountain  ramble,  a  new  style  of  face,  a  new  person,  may  put 
the  key  into  our  hands.  Of  course,  the  value  of  genius  to  us 
is  in  the  veracity  of  its  report.  Talent  may  frolic  and  juggle ; 
genius  realizes  and  adds.  Mankind,  in  good  earnest,  "have 
availed  so  far  in  understanding  themselves  and  their  work, 
that  the  foremost  watchman  on  the  peak  announces  his  news. 
It  is  the  truest  word  ever  spoken,  and  the  phrase  will  be  the 
fittest,  most  musical,  and  the  unerring  voice  of  the  world  for 
that  time. 

All  that  we  call  sacred  history  attests  that  the  birth  of  a 
poet  is  the  principal  event  in  chronology.  Man,  never  so  often 
deceived,  still  watches  for  the  arrival  of  a  brother  who  can 
hold  him  steady  to  a  truth,  until  he  has  made  it  his  own.  With 
what  joy  I  begin  to  read  a  poem,  which  I  confide  in  as  inspira- 
tion 1  And  now  my  chains  are  to  be  broken;  I  shall  mount 
above  these  clouds  and  opaque  airs  in  which  I  live, — opaque, 
though  they  seem  transparent, — and  from  the  heaven  of  truth 
I  shall  see  and  comprehend  my  relations.  That  will  reconcile 
me  to  life,  and  renovate  nature,  to  see  trifles  animated  by  a 
tendency,  and  to  know  what  I  am  doing.  Life  will  no  more 
be  a  noise ;  now  I  shall  see  men  and  women,  and  know  the 
signs  by  which  they  may  be  discerned  from  fools  and  satans. 
This  day  shall  be  better  than  my  birthday  :  then  I  became  an 
animal :  now  I  am  invited  into  the  science  of  the  real.  Such 
is  the  hope,  but  the  fruition  is  postponded.  Oftener  it  falls, 
that  this  winged  man,  who  will  carry  me  into  the  heaven, 
whirls  me  into  the  clouds,  then  leaps  and  frisks  about  with  me 
from  cloud  to  cloud,  still  affirming  that  he  is  bound  heaven- 
ward  ;  and  I,  being  myself  a  novice,  am  slow  in  perceiving  that 
he  does  not  know  the  way  into  the  heavens,  and  is  merely  bent 
that  I  should  admire  his  skill  to  rise,  like  a  fowl  or  a  flying 
fish,  a  little  way  from  the  ground  or  the  water ;  but  the  all- 
piercing,  all-feeding,  and  ocular  air  of  heaven,  that  man  shall 
never  inhabit.  I  tumble  down  again  soon  into  my  old  nooks, 
and  lead  the  life  of  exaggerations  as  before,  and  have  lost  ray 
faith  in  the  possibility  of  any  guide  who  can  lead  me  thither 
Where  I  would  be. 

But  leaving  these  victims  of  vanity,  let  us,  with  new  hope, 
observe  how  nature,  by  worthier  impulses,  has  ensured  the 
poet's  fidelity  to  his  office  of  announcement  and  affirming, 
namely,  by  the  beauty  of  things,  which  becomes  a  new,  and 


?  EMERSONt 

jugher  beauty,  when  expressed.    Nature  offers  ail 
tU£Cg  to  him  as  a  picture-language.    Being  used  as  a  type,  i 
Second  wonderi'ul  value  appears  in  the  object,  far  better  than 
its  old  value,  as  the  carpenter's  stretched  cord^if  you  hold 
your  ear  close  enough,  is  musical  in  the  breeze.    "'  Things  more 
excellent   than  every   image,"  says   Jambliehus,  "are    ex 
pressed  through  images."     Things  admit  of  being  used  i. 
symbols,  because  nature  is  a  symbol,  in  .lie  whole,  and  in  ever/ 
Jart.     Every  line  we  can  draw  in  the  saild,  has  expression  r 
and  there  is  no  body  without  its  sphlt  or  genius     All  form  is 
an  effect  of  character  ;  all  condition,  of  the  quality  of  the  life 
all  harm-ny,  of  health ;  (and,  for  this  reason,  a  perception  of 
beauty  skoulct  be  sympathetic,  or  proper  only  to  the  good.) 
The   beautiful    rests   on   the   foundations  of  the  n 
The  soul  makes  the  body ,  as  the  wise  Spenser  teaches 

"  So  every  spirit,  as  it  is  most  pure, 
And  hath  in  it  the  more  of  heavenly  light, 
So  it  the  fairer  body  doth  procure 
Tohahit  in,  and  it  more  fairly  dight, 
With  cheerful  grace  and  amiable  sight. 
For,  of  the  scul,  the  body  form  doth  take, 
Ft/  soul  is  form,  and  doth  the  body  make.** 

Her*.  <?e  find  ourselves,  suddenly,  not  in  a  critical  speculation 
but  in  a  holy  place,  and  should  go  very  warily  and  reverently 
We  stand  belbre  the  secret  of  the  world,  thare  where  Beia^ 
passes  into  Appearance,  and  Unity  into  Yariety. 

The  Universe  is  the  externization  of  the  soul.  Whereve. 
the  life  is,  that  bursts  into  appearance  around  it.  Our  science 
is  sensual,  and  therefore  superficial.  The  earth,  and  th 
heavenly  bodies,  physics,  and  chemistry, ,WC  sensually  t  -eat,  a 
if  they  were  self-existent;  but  theso  ?w.e  the  retinue  of  tha 
Being  we  have.  "The  mighty  IH-TVCB,"  said  Proclus,  "ex 
hibits,  in  its  transfigurations,  clear  linage^  of  the  splendor  oi 
;ntellectual  perceptions ;  being  moved  in  conjunction  with  the 
nnapparent  periods  of  intellectual  natures."  Therefore, 
science  always  goes  abreast  with  the  just  elevation  of  the 
man,  keeping  step  with  religion  and  metaphysics ;  or,  thettate 
of  science  is  an  index  of  our  elf-knowledge.  Since  every- 
thing in  nature  answers  to  a  moral  power,  if  any  phenomenon 
remains  brute  and  dark,  it  is  that  the  corresponding  faculty  ir 
the  observer  is  not  j-et  active 

No  wonder,  then,  if  these  waters  be  so  deep,  that  we  hovei 
over  them  with  a  religious  regard.  The  beauty  of  the  fable 
proves  the  importance  of  the  sense ;  to  the  poet,  and  to  all 
others ;  or,  if  you  please,  every  man  is  so  far  a  poet  as  to  be 


THE  POET. 


11 


?nsceptibie  of  tiwse  enchantments  of  nature  :  for  all  men  have 
the  thoughts  whereof  the  universe  is  the  celebration.  I  find 
that  the  fascination  resides  in  the  symbol.  Who  loves  nature  ? 
Who  does  not  ?  Is  it  only  poets,  and  men  of  leisure  and  cul- 
tivation, who  live  with  her  ?  No ;  but  also  hunters,  farmers, 
grooms,  and  butchers,  though  they  express  their  affection  in 
their  choice  of  life,  and  not  in  their  choice  of  words.  The 
writer  wonders  what  the  coachman  or  the  hunter  values  in 
riding,  in  horses,  and  dogs.  It  is  not  superficial  qualities 
When  you  talk  with  him,  he  holds  these  at  as  slight  a  rate  as 
yon.  His  worship  is  sympathetic  ;  he  has  no  definitions,  but 
he  is  commanded  in  nature,  by  the  living  power  which  he  feels 
to  be  there  present.  No  imitation,  or  playing  of  these  things, 
would  content  him  ;  he  loves  the  earnest  of  the  northwind,  of 
fain,  of  stone,  and  wood,  and  iron.  A  beauty  not  explicable, 
<s  dearer  than  a  beauty  which  we  can  see  to  the  end  of.  It  is 
nature  the  symbol,  nature  certifying  the  supernatural,  body 
overflowed  by  life,  which  he  worships,  with  coarse,  but  sincere 
ntes. 

Tlie  inwardness,  and  mj-stery,  of  this  attachment,  drives 
men  of  every  class  to  the  use  of  emblems.  The  schools  of 
poets,  and  philosophers,  are  not  more  intoxicated  with  their 
symbols,  than  the  populace  with  theirs.  In  our  political 
parties,  compute  the  power  of  badges  and  emblems.  See  the 
great  ball  which  they  roll  from  Baltimore  to  Bunker  hill !  In 
tne  political  processions,  Lowell  goes  in  a  loom,  and  Lynn  in 
a  shoe,  and  Salem  in  a  ship.  Witness  the  cider-barrel,  the 
log-cabin,  tne  hickory-stick,  the  palmetto,  and  all  the  cogni- 
zances of  party.  See  the  power  of  national  emblems.  Some 
stars,  lilies,  leopards,  a  crescent,  a  lion,  an  eagle,  or  other 
figure,  which  came  into  credit  God  knows  how,  on  an  old  rag 
of  bunting,  blowing  in  the  wind,  on  a  fort,  at  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  shall  make  the  blood  tingle  under  the  rudest,  or  the 
most  conventional  exterior.  The  people  fancy  they  hate 
poetry,  and  they  are  all  poets  and  mystics  1 

Beyond  this  universality  of  the  symbolic  language,  we  an 
apprised  of  the  divineness  of  tins  superior  use  of  things, 
whereby  the  world  is  a  temple,  whose  walls  are  covered  witll 
emblems,  pictures,  and  commandments  of  tin-  Deity,  in  this, 
that  there  is  no  fact  in  nature  which  does  not  carry  the  whole 
sense  of  nature  ;  and  the  distinctions  which  we  make  in  events, 
and  in  affairs,  of  low  and  high,  honest  and  base,  disappear 
whe  i  lature  is  used  as  a 'symbol.  Thought  makes  everything 
fit  fc  TO.  The  vocabulary  of  an  omniscient  man  would  »'m- 
ta  :  word  n.d  images  excluded  from  polite  conversation 


12  EMERSON'S  ESSATlf. 

What  would  be  base,  or  even  obscene,  to  the  obscene,  becomes 
illustrious,  spoken  in  a  new  connection  of  thought.  The  piety 
of  the  Hebrew  prophets  purges  their  grossness.  The  circum- 
cision is  an  example  of  the  power  of  poetry  to  raise  the  low 
and  offensive.  Small  and  mean  things  serve  as  well  as  great 
symbols.  The  meaner  the  type  by  which  a  law  is  expressed, 
he  more  pungent  it  is,  and  the  more  lasting  in  the  memories 
of  men  :  just  as  we  choose  the  smallest  box,  or  case,  in  which 
.nv  needful  utensil  can  be  carried.  Bare  lists  of  words  are 
,  :.d  suggestive,  to  an  imaginative  and  excited  mind;  as  it  is 
related  of  Lord  Chatham,  that  he  was  accustomed  to  read  in 
Bailey's  Dictionary,  when  he  was  preparing  to  speak  in  Par- 
liament. The  poorest  experience  is  rich  enough  for  all  the 
purposes  of  expressing  thought.  Why  covet  a  knowledge  of 
new  facts  ?  Day  and  night,  house  and  garden,  a  few  books,  a  few 
actions,  serve  us  as  well  as  would  all  trades  and  all  spectacles. 
We  are  far  from  having  exhausted  the  significance  of  the  few 
symbols  we  use.  We  can  come  to  use  them  yet  with  a  terrible 
simplicity.  It  does  not  need  that  a  poem  should  be  long. 
Every  word  was  once  a  poem.  Every  new  relation  is  a  new 
word.  Also,  we  use  defects  and  deformities  to  a  sacred  pur- 
pose, so  expressing  our  sense  that  the  evils  of  the  world  are 
such  only  to  the  evil  63-6.  In  the  old  mythology,  my thologists 
observe,  defects  are  ascribed  to  divine  natures,  as  lameness  to 
Yulcan,  blindness  to  Cupid,  and  the  like,  to  signify  exuber- 
ances. 

For,  as  it  is  dislocation  and  detachment  from  the  life  of  God, 
that  makes  things  ugty,  the  poet,  who  re-attaches  things  to 
nature  and  the  Whole, — re-attaching  even  artificial  things,  and 
violations  of  nature,  to  nature,  by  a  deeper  insight, — disposes 
very  easily  of  the  most  disagreeable  facts.  Readers  of  poetry 
see  the  factory -village  and  the  railway,  and  fancy  that  the  po- 
etry of  the  landscape  is  broken  up  by  these ;  for  these  works  of 
art  are  nc'-  yet  consecrated  in  their  reading  ;  but  the  poet  sees 
them  fal'  -vithin  the  great  Order  not  less  than  the  bee-hive,  or 
the  spider's  geometrical  web.  Nature  adopts  them  very  fast 
into  her  vital  circles,  and  the  gliding  train  of  cars  she  loves 
like  her  own.  Besides,  in  a  centred  mind,  it  signifies  nothing 
how  many  mechanical  inventions  you  exhibit.  Though  you 
add  millions,  and  never  so  surprising,  the  fact  of  mechanics 
has  not  gained  a  grain's  weight.  The  spiritual  fact  remains 
unalterable,  by  many  or  by  few  particulars ;  as  no  mountain 
is  of  any  appreciable  height  to  break  the  curve  of  the  sphere. 
A  shrewd  country-boy  goes  to  the  city  for  the  first  time,  and 
the  complacent  citizen  is  not  satisfied  with  his  little  wc**dec. 


THE  POE2.  |g 

It  is  not  that  he  does  not  see  all  the  fine  houses,  and  know 
that  ne  never  saw  such  before,  but  he  disposes  of  them  as 
easily  as  the  poet  finds  place  for  the  railway.  The  chief  value 
of  the  new  fact,  is  to  enhance  the  great  and  constant  fact  of 
Life,  which  can  dwarf  any  and  every  circumstance,  and  to 
which  the  belt  of  wampum,  and  the  commerce  of  America,  are 
alike. 

The  world  being  thus  put  under  the  mind  for  verb  and  noun, 
the  poet  is  he  who  can  s .rticulate  it.  For,  though  life  is  great, 
and  fascinates,  and  absorbs, — and  though  all  men  are  intelli- 
gent of  the  symbols  through  which  it  is  mtued,— yet  they  can- 
not originally  use  them.  We  are  symbols,  and  inhabit  sym- 
bols ;  workman,  work,  and  tools,  words  and  things,  birth  and 
death,  all  are  emblems ;  but  we  sympathize  with  the  symbols, 
and,  being  infatuated  with  the  economical  uses  of  things,  we 
do  not  know  that  they  are  thoughts.  The  poet,  by  an  ulterior 
intellectual  perception,  gives  them  a  power  which  makes  their 
old  use  forgotten,  and  puts  eyes,  and  a  tongue,  into  every 
dumb  and  inanimate  object.  He  perceives  the  independence 
of  the  thought  on  the  symbol,  the  stability  of  the  thought,  the 
accidency  and  fugacity  of  the  symbol.  As  the  eyes  of  Lyn- 
caeus  were  said  to  see  through  the  earth,  so  the  poet  turns  the 
world  to  glass,  and  shows  us  all  things  in  their  right  series  and 
procession.  For,  through  that  better  perception,  he  stands  one 
step  nearer  to  things,  and  sees  the  flowing  or  metamorphosis ; 
perceives  that  thought  is  multiform  ;  that  within  the  form  of 
every  creature  is  a  force  impelling  it  to  ascend  into  a  higher 
form ;  and,  following  with  his  eyes  the  life,  uses  the  forms 
which  express  that  life,  and  so  his  speech  flows  with  the  flow- 
ing of  nature.  All  the  facts  of  the  animal  economy,  sex,  nutri- 
ment, gestation,  birth,  growth,  are  symbols  of  the  passage  of 
the  world  into  the  soul  of  man,  to  suffer  there  a  change,  and 
reappear  a  new  and  higher  fact.  He  uses  forms  according  to 
the  life,  and  not  according  to  the  form.  This  is  true  science. 
The  poet  alone  knows  astronomy,  chemistry,  vegetation,  and 
animation,  for  he  does  not  stop  at  these  facts,  but  employs 
them  as  signs.  He  knows  why  the  plain,  or  meadow  of  space, 
was  strown  with  these  flowers  we  call  suns,  and  moons,  and 
stars  ;  why  the  great  deep  is  adorned  with  animals,  with  men, 
and  gods;  for,  in  every  word  he  speaks  he  rides  on  them  us 
the  horses  of  thought. 

By  virtue  of  this  science  the  poet  is  the  Namer,  or  Language- 
maker,  naming  things  sometimes  after  their  appearance,  some- 
times  after  their  essence,  and  giving  to  every  one  its  own 
and  not  another's,  thereby  rejoiciog  the  intellect,  wbiob 


14  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

delights  in  detachment  or  boundary.  The  poets  made  all  the 
words,  and  therefore  language  is  the  archives  of  history,  and, 
if  we  must  say  it,  a  sort  of  tomb  of  the  muses.  For,  though 
the  origin  of  most  of  our  words  is  forgotten,  each  word  was  at 
first  a  stroke  of  genius,  and  obtained  currency,  because  for  the 
moment  it  symbolized  the  world  to  the  first  speaker  and  to  the 
hearer.  The  etymologist  finds  the  deadest  word  to  have  been 
once  a  brilliant  picture.  Language  is  fossil  poetry.  As  the 
'imestone  of  the  continent  consists  of  infinite  masses  of  the 
shells  of  animalcules,  so  language  is  made  up  of  images,  or 
tropes,  which  now,  in  their  secondary  use,  have  long  ceased  to 
remind  us  of  their  poetic  origin.  But  the  poet  names  the 
thing  because  he  sees  it,  or  comes  one  step  nearer  to  it  than 
any  other.  This  expression,  or  naming,  is  not  art,  but  a  second 
nature,  grown  out  of  the  first,  as  a  leaf  out  of  a  tree. 
What  we  call  nature,  is  a  certain  self-regulated  motion,  or 
change ;  and  nature  does  all  things  by  her  own  hands,  and  does 
not  leave  another  to  baptize  her,  but  baptizes  herself;  and  this 
through  the  metamorphosis  again.  I  remember  that  a  certain 
poet  described  it  to  me  thus : 

Genius  is  the  activity  which  repairs  the  decays  of  things, 
whether  wholly  or  partly  of  a  material  and  finite  kind.  Nature, 
through  all  her  kingdoms,  insures  herself.  Nobody  cares  for 
planting  the  poor  fungus :  so  she  shakes  down  from  the  gills 
of  one  agaric  countless  spores,  any  one  of  which,  being  pre- 
served, transmits  new  billions  of  spores  to-morrow  or  next  day. 
The  new  agaric  of  this  hour  has  a  chance  which  the  old  one  had 
not.  This  atom  of  seed  is  thrown  into  a  new  place,  not  sub- 
ject to  the  accidents  which  destroyed  its  parent  two  rods  oft 
She  makes  a  man ;  and  having  brought  him  to  ripe  age,  she 
will  no  longer  run  the  risk  of  losing  this  wonder  at  a  blow, 
but  she  detaches  from  him  a  new  self,  that  the  kind  may  be 
safe  from  accidents  to  which  the  individual  is  exposed.  So 
when  the  soul  of  the  poet  has  come  to  ripeness  of  thought,  sho 
detaches  and  sends  away  from  it  its  poems  or  songs, — a  fear~ 
less,  sleepless,  deathless  progeny,  which  is  not  exposed  to  thy 
accidents  of  the  weary  kingdom  of  time :  a  fearless,  vivaciouj 
offspring,  clad  with  wings,  (such  was  the  virtue  of  the  soui 
out  of  which  they  came),  which  carry  them  fast  and  far,  and 
infix  them  irrecoverably  into  the  hearts  of  men.  These  wings 
are  the  beauty  of  the  poet's  soul.  The  songs,  thus  flying  im- 
mortal from  their  mortal  parent,  are  pursued  by  clamorous 
flights  of  censures,  which  swarm  in  far  greater  numbers,  and 
threaten  to  devour  them ;  but  these  last  are  not  winged.  At 
the  end  of  a  very  short  leap  they  fall  plump  down,  and  rofc^ 


TRJ&  POET.  j- 

having  received  from  the  souls  out  of  which  they  came  no 
beautiful  wings.  But  the  melodies  of  the  poet  ascend,  and 
leap,  and  pierce  into  the  deeps  of  infinite  time. 

So  far  the  bard  taught  me,  using  his  freer  speech.  But  na- 
ture  has  a  higher  end,  in  the  production  of  new  individuals, 
than  security,  namely,  ascension,  or,  the  passage  of  the  soul 
Jnto  higher  forms.  I  knew,  in  my  younger  days,  the  sculptor 
who  made  the  statue  of  the  youth  which  stands  in  the  public 
garden.  He  was,  as  I  remember,  unable  to  tell,  directly,  what 
made  him  happy,  or  unhappy,  but  by  wonderful  indirections 
he  could  tell.  He  rose  one  day,  according  to  bis  habit,  before 
the  dawn,  and  saw  the  morning  break,  grand  as  the  eternity 
out  of  which  it  came,  and,  for  many  days  fitter,  he  strove  to 
express  this  tranquillity,  and,  lo !  his  chisel  had  fashioned  out 
of  marble  the  form  of  a  beautiful  youth,  Phosphorus,  whose 
aspect  is  such,  that,  it  is  said,  all  persons  who  look  on  it  be- 
come silent.  The  poet  also  resigns  himself  to  his  mood,  and 
that  thought  which  agitated  him  is  expressed,  but  alter  idern^ 
in  a  manner  totally  new.  The  expression  is  organic,  or,  the 
new  type  which  things  themselves  take  when  liberated.  As, 
In  the  sun,  objects  paint  their  images  on  the  retina  of  the  eye, 
so  they,  sharing  the  aspiration  of  the  whole  universe,  tend  to 
paint  a  far  more  delicate  copy  of  their  essence  in  his  mind. 
Like  the  metamorphosis  of  things  into  higher  organic  forms, 
is  their  change  into  melodies.  Over  everything  stands  its 
daemon,  or  soul,  and,  as  the  form  of  the  thing  is  reflected  by 
the  eye,  so  the  soul  of  the  thing  is  reflected  by  a  melody.  The 
sea,  the  mountain-ridge,  Niagara,  and  every  flower-bed,  pre- 
exist, or  super-exist,  in  pre-cantations,  which  sail  like  odors  in 
the  air,  and  when  any  man  goes  by  witli  an  ear  sufficiently 
fine,  he  overhears  them,  and  endeavors  to  write  down  the 
notes,  without  diluting  or  depraving  them.  And  herein  is  the 
1  .sritimation  of  criticism,  in  the  mind's  faith,  that  the  poems 
are  a  corrupt  version  of  some  text,  in  nature,  with  which  they 
ought  to  be  made  to  tally.  A  rhyme  in  one  of  our  sonnets 
should  not  be  less  pleasing  than  the  iterated  nodes  of  a  sea- 
shell,  or  the  resembling  difference  of  a  group  of  flowers.  The 
pairing  of  the  birds  is  an  idyl,  not  tedious  »*  our  idyls  are ;  a 
tempest  is  a  rough  ode  without  falsehood  or  rant ;  a  summer, 
with  its  harvest  sown,  reaped,  and  stored,  is  an  epic;  song,  sub- 
ordinating how  many  admirably  executed  parts.  Why  should 
not  the  symmetry  and  truth  that  modulate  these,  glide  into 
our  spirits,  and  we  participate  the  invention  of  nature  ? 
This  insight,  which  expresses  itself  by  what  is  called 


J8  EMERSON'S  S88AY8 

ination,  is  a  very  high  sort  of  seeing,  which  does  not  come  b$ 
gtudy,  but  by  the  intellect  being  where  and  what  it  sees,  by 
sharing  the  path,  or  circuit  of  things  through  forms,  and  so 
making  them  translucid  to  others.  The  path  of  things  is  si- 
lent. Will  they  suffer  a  speaker  to  go  with  them  ?  A  spy 
they  will  not  suffer  ;  a  lover,  a  poet,  is  the  transcendency  of 
their  own  nature,— him  they  will  suffer.  The  condition  of  true 
naming,  on  the  poet's  part,  is  his  resigning  himself  to  the  di- 
vine aura  which  breathes  through  forms,  and  accompanying 
that. 

It  is  a  secret  which  every  intellectual  man  quickly  learns, 
that,  beyond  the  energy  of  his  possessed  and  conscious  intel- 
lect, he  is  capable  of  a  new  energy  (as  of  an  intellect  doubled 
on  itself),  by  abandonment  to  the  nature  of  things  ;  that,  be- 
sides his  privacy  of  power  as  an  individual  man,  there  is  a 
great  public  power,  on  which  he  can  draw,  by  unlocking,  at  all 
risks,  his  human  doors,  and  suffering  the  ethereal  tides  to  roll 
and  circulate  through  him  :  then  he  is  caught  up  into  the  life 
of  the  Universe,  his  speech  is  thunder,  his  thought  is  law,  and 
his  words  are  universally  intelligible  as  the  plants  and  ani- 
mals. The  poet  knows  that  he  speaks  adequately,  then,  only 
When  he  speaks  somewhat  wildly,  or,  "  with  the  flower  of  the 
mind  ;  "  not  with  the  intellect,  used  as  an  organ,  but  with  the 
intellect  released  from  all  service,  and  suffered  to  take  its  di- 
rection from  ita  celestial  life  ;  or,  as  the  ancients  were  wont  to 
express  themselves,  not  with  intellect  alone,  but  with  the  in- 
tellect inebriated  by  nectar.  As  the  traveller  who  has  lost  his 
way,  throws  his  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  and  trusts  to  the  in- 
stinct of  the  animal  to  find  his  road,  so  must  we  do  with  the 
divine  animal  who  carries  us  through  this  world.  For  if  in 
any  manner  we  can  stimulate  this  instinct,  new  passages  are 
opened  for  us  into  nature,  the  mind  flows  into  and  through 
things  hardest  and  highest,  and  the  metamorphosis  is  poss'ble, 

This  is  the  reason  why  bards  love  wine,  mead,  narcor. 
•offee,  tea,  opium,  the  fumes  of  sandal-wood  and  toba:eo,  o 
whatever  other  species  of  animal  exhilaration.     All  men  avtv.'.. 
themselves  of  such  means  as  they  can,  to  add  this  extracr 
nary  power  to  their  normal  powers  ;  and  to  this  end  they  prize 
conversation,  music,  pictures,  sculpture,  dancing,  theatres. 
travelling,  war,  mobs,  fires,   gaming,   politics,   or    love,  or 
science,  or  animal  intoxication,  which  are  several  coarser  or 
finer  <?w<m-mechanical  substitutes  for  the  true  nectar,  which  is 
the  ravishment  of  the  intellect  by  coming  nearer  to  the  fact 
These  are  auxiliaries  to  the  centrifugal  tendency  of  a  man,  to 
bis  passage  out  into  free  space,  and  they  help  him  to  escape 


POET.  H 

the  custody  of  that  body  in  which  he  is  pent  up,  and  of  thai 
jail-yard  of  individual  relations  in  which  he  is  enclosed 
Hence  a  great  number  of  such  as  were  professionally  express- 
ors  of  Beauty,  as  painters,  poets,  musicians,  and  actors,  have 
been  more  than  others  wont  to  lead  a  life  of  pleasure  and  in- 
dulgence ;  all  but  the  few  who  received  the  true  nectar  ;  and. 
as  it  was  a  spurious  mode  of  attaining  freedom,  as  it  was  an 
emancipation  not  into  the  heavens,  but  into  the  freedom  of 
baser  places,  they  were  punished  for  that  advantage  they  won, 
by  a  dissipation  and  deterioration.  But  never  can  any  advan- 
tage be  taken  of  nature  by  a  trick.  The  spirit  of  the  world, 
the  great  calm  presence  of  the  creator,  comes  not  forth  to  the 
sorceries  of  opium  or  of  wine.  The  sublime  vision  comes  to 
the  pure  and  simple  soul  in  a  clean  and  chaste  body.  That  is 
not  an  inspiration  which  we  owe  to  narcotics,  but  some  coun- 
terfeit excitement  and  fury.  Milton  says,  that  the  lyric  poet 
may  drink  wine  and  live  generously,  but  the  epic  poet,  he  who 
shall  sing  of  the  gods,  and  their  descent  unto  men,  must  drink 
water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl.  For  poetry  is  not '  Devil's  wine,' 
but  God's  wine.  It  is  with  this  as  it  is  with  toys.  We  fill 
the  hands  and  nurseries  of  our  children  with  all  manner  of 
dolls,  drums,  and  horses,  withdrawing  their  eyes  from  the 
plain  face  and  sufficing  objects  of  nature,  the  sun,  and  moon, 
the  animals,  the  water,  and  stones,  which  should  be  their  toys. 
So  the  poet's  habit  of  living  should  be  set  on  a  key  so  low  and 
plain,  that  the  common  influences  should  delight  him.  His 
cheerfulness  should  be  the  gift  of  the  sunlight ;  the  air  should 
suffice  for  his  inspiration,  and  he  should  be  tipsy  with  water. 
Tnat  spirit  which  suffices  quiet  hearts,  which  seems  to  come 
forth  to  such  from  every  dry  knoll  of  sere  grass,  from  every 
pine-stump,  and  half-imbedded  stone,  on  which  the  dull  March 
sun  shines,  comes  forth  to  the  poor  and  hungry,  and  such  ns 
are  of  simple  taste.  If  thou  fill  thy  brain  with  Boston  and 
New  York,  with  fashion  and  covetousness,  and  wilt  stimulate 
thy  jaded  senses  with  wine  and  French  coffee,  thou  shalt  find 
no  radiance  of  wisdom  in  the  lonely  waste  of  the  pinewoods. 

If  the  imagination  intoxicates  the  poet,  it  is  not  inactive  in 
other  men.  The  metamorphosis  excites  in  the  beholder  an 
emotion  of  joy.  The  use  of  symbols  has  a  certain  power  of 
emancipation  'and  exhiliration  for  all  men.  We  seem  to  be 
touched  by  a  wand,  which  makes  us  dance  and  run  about  hap- 
pily,  like  children.  We  are  like  persons  who  come  out  of  a 
cave  or  cellar  into  the  open  air.  This  is  the  effect  on  us  of 
iropes,  fables,  oracles,  and  all  poetic  forms.  Poets  an-  t  him 
Iterating  gods.  Men  have  really  got  a  new  aenae,  and  feuad 
3 


ESSAYS. 

within  their  world,  another  world,  or  nest  of  worlds ;  for,  the 
metamorphosis  once  seen,  we  divine  that  it  does  not  stop.  I 
will  not  now  consider  how  much  this  makes  the  charm  of 
algebra  and  the  mathematics,  which  also  have  their  tropes,  but 
it  is  felt  in  every  definition ;  as,  when  Aristotle  defines  space 
to  be  an  immovable  vessel,  in  which  things  are  contained ; — 
or,  when  Plato  defines  a  line  to  be  a  flowing  point ;  or,  figure 
to  be  a  bound  of  solid ;  and  many  the  like.  What  a  joyful 
sense  of  freedom  we  have,  when  Vitruvius  announces  the  old 
opinion  of  artists,  that  no  architect  can  build  any  house  well, 
who  does  not  know  something  of  anatomy.  When  Socrates, 
in  Charniides,  tells  us  that  the  soul  is  cured  of  its  maladies  by 
certain  incantations,  and  that  these  incantations  are  beautiful 
reasons,  from  which  temperance  is  generated  in  souls;  when 
Plato  calls  the  world  an  animal ;  and  Timaeus  affirms  that  the 
plants  also  are  animals ;  or  affirms  a  man  to  be  a  heavenly 
tree,  growing  with  his  root,  which  is  his  head,  upward  j  and, 
as  George  Chapman,  following  him,  writes, — 

"  So  in  our  tree  of  man,  whose  nervie  root 
Springs  in  his  top ; " 

when  Orpheus  speaks  of  hoariness  as  "  that  white  flower  which 
marks  extreme  old  age ;  "  when  Proclus  calls  the  universe  the 
statue  of  the  intellect ;  when  Chaucer,  in  his  praise  of  '  Gen- 
tilesse,'  compares  good  blood  in  mean  condition  to  fire,  which, 
though  carried  to  the  darkest  house  betwixt  this  and  the 
mount  of  Caucasus,  will  yet  hold  its  natural  office,  and  burn 
as  bright  as  if  twenty  thousand  men  did  it  behold ;  when  John 
saw,  in  the  apocalypse,  the  ruin  of  the  world  through  evil, 
and  the  stars  fall  from  heaven,  as  the  figtree  casteth  her  un- 
timely fruit ;  when  ^Esop  reports  the  whole  catalogue  of  com- 
mor  daily  relations  through  the  masquerade  of  birds  and 
beaste ; — we  take  the  cheerful  hint  of  the  immortality  of  our 
essence,  and  its  versatile  habit  and  escapes,  as  when  the 
gypsies  say,  "  it  is  in  vain  to  hang  them,  they  cannot  die." 

n.3  poets  are  thus  liberating  gods.  The  ancient  British 
ba:  k  had  for  the  title  of  their  order, "  Those  who  are  free 
throughout  the  world."  They  are  free,  and  they  make  free. 
An  imaginative  book  renders  us  much  more  service  at  first,  by 
stimulating  us  through  its  tropes,  than  afterward,  when  we 
arrive  at  the  precise  sense  of  the  author.  I  think  nothing  is 
of  any  value  in  books,  excepting  the  transcendental  and  ex- 
traordinary. If  a  man  is  inflamed  and  carried  away  by  his 
thought,  to  that  degree  that  he  forgets  the  authors  and  the 
public,  and  heeds  only  this  one  dream,  which  holds  him  like  an 


THE  POET.  jg 

Insanity,  let  me  read  his  paper,  and  you  may  have  all  the 
arguments  and  histories  and  criticism.  All  the  value  which 
attaches  to  Pythagoras,  Paracelsus,  Cornelius  Agrippa,  Car 
dan,  Kepler,  Swedenborg,  Schilling,  Oken,  or  any  other  who 
introduces  questionable  facts  into  his  cosmogony,  as  angels, 
devils,  magic,  astrology,  palmistry,  mesmerism,  and  so  on,  ia 
the  certificate  we  have  of  departure  from  routine,  and  that 
here  is  a  new  witness.  That  also  is  the  best  success  in  coc- 
versation,  the  magic  of  liberty,  which  puts  the  world,  like  a 
ball,  in  our  hands.  How  cheap  even  the  liberty  then  seems  ; 
how  mean  to  study,  when  an  emotion  communicates  to  the  in- 
tellect  the  power  to  sap  and  upheave  nature :  how  great  the 
perspective  I  nations,  times,  systems,  enter  and  disappear,  like 
threads  in  tapestry  of  large  figure  and  many  colors ;  dream 
delivers  us  to  dream,  and,  while  the  drunkenness  lasts,  we  will 
sell  our  bed,  our  philosophy,  our  religion,  in  our  opulence. 

There  is  good  reason  why  we  should  prize  this  liberation. 
The  fate  of  the  poor  shepherd,  who,  blinded  and  lost  in  the 
snowstorm,  perishes  in  a  drift  within  a  few  feet  of  his  cottage 
door,  is  an  emblem  of  the  state  of  man.  On  the  brink  of  the 
waters  of  life  and  truth,  we  are  miserably  dying.  The  inao- 
cessibleness  of  every  thought  but  that  we  are  in,  .;s  wonder- 
ful. What  if  you  come  near  to  it, — you  are  as  remote,  when 
you  are  nearest,  as  when  you  are  farthest.  Every  thought  is 
also  a  prison ;  every  heaven  is  also  a  prison.  Therefore  we 
love  the  poet,  the  inventor,  who  in  any  form,  whether  in  an 
ode,  or  in  an  action,  or  in  looks  and  behavior,  has  yielded  us  a 
new  thought.  He  unlocks  our  chains,  and  admits  us  to  a  new 
scene. 

This  emancipation  is  dear  to  all  men,  and  the  power  to  im- 
part it,  as  it  must  come  from  greater  dc  • .  .  and  scope  of 
thought,  is  a  measure  of  intellect.  Therefore  all  books  of  the 
magination  endure,  all  which  ascend  to  that  truth,  that  the 
writer  sees  nature  beneath  him,  and  uses  it  as  his  exponent 
Every  verse  or  sentence,  possessing  this  virtue,  will  take  care 
of  its  own  immortalit}'.  The  religions  of  the  world  are  the 
ejaculations  of  a  few  imaginative  men. 

But  the  quality  of  the  imagination  is  to  flow,  and  not  to 
freeze.  The  poet  did  not  stop  at  the  color,  or  the  form,  but 
read  their  meaning  ;  neither  may  he  rest  in  this  meaning,  but 
he  makes  the  same  objects  exponents  of  his  new  thought. 
Here  is  the  difference  betwixt  the  poet  and  the  mystic,  that 
the  last  nails  a  symbol  to  one  sense,  which  was  a  trm 
for  a  moment,  but  soon  becomes  old  and  false.  For  all  sym- 
bols are  fluxional ;  all  language  is  vehicular  and  transitive,  and 


20  EMERSON1 3  ESSAYS. 

is  good,  as  ferries  and  horses  are,  for  conveyance,  *iot  as  farms 
and  houses  are,  for  homestead.  JNtysticism  consists  in  the 
mistake  of  an  accidental  and  individual  symbol  for  an  univer- 
sal one.  The  morning-redness  happens  to  be  the  favorite 
meteor  to  the  eyes  of  Jacob  Behrnen,  and  comes  to  stand  to 
him  for  truth  and  faith  ;  and  he  believes  should  stand  for  the 
same  realities  to  every  reader.  But  the  first  reader  prefers  as 
naturally  the  symbol  of  a  mother  and  child,  or  a  gardener  and 
his  bulb,  or  a  jeweller  polishing  a  gem.  Either  of  these,  or  of 
a  myriad  more,  are  equally  good  to  the  person  to  whom  they 
are  significant.  Only  they  must  be  held  lightly,  and  be  very 
willingly  translated  into  the  equivalent  terms  which  others 
use.  And  the  mystic  must  be  steadily  told, — All  that  you  say 
is  just  as  true  without  the  tedious  use  of  that  symbol  as  with 
it.  Let  us  have  a  little  algebra,  instead  of  this  trite  rhetoric, 
. — universal  signs,  instead  of  these  village  sy-mbols, — and  we 
shall  both  be  gainers.  The  history  of  hierarchies  seems  to 
show,  that  all  religious  error  consisted  in  making  the  symbol 
too  stark  and  solid,  and,  at  last,  nothing  but  an  excess  of  the 
organ  of  language. 

Swedenborg,  of  all  men  in  the  recent  ages,  stands  eminently 
for  the  translator  of  nature  into  thought.  I  do  not  know  the 
man  in  history  to  whom  things  stood  so  uniformly  for  words. 
Before  him  the  metamorphosis  continually  plays.  Everything 
on  which  his  eye  rests,  obeys  the  impulses  of  moral  nature. 
The  figs  become  grapes  whilst  he  eats  them.  When  some  of 
his  angels  affirmed  a  truth,  the  laurel  twig  which  they  held 
blossomed  in  their  hands.  The  noise  which,  at  a  distance,  ap- 
peared like  gnashing  and  thumping,  on  coming  nearer  was 
found  to  be  the  voice  of  disputants.  The  men,  in  one  of  his 
visions,  seen  ir  heavenly  light,  appeared  like  dragons,  and 
seemed  in  darkness :  but,  to  each  other,  they  appeared  as  men, 
and,  when  the  light  from  heaven  shone  into  their  cabin,  they 
complained  of  the  darkness,  and  were  compelled  to  shut  the 
window  that  they  might  see. 

There  was  this  perception  in  him,  which  makes  the  poet  or 
seer,  an  object  of  awe  and  terror,  namely,  that  the  same  man, 
or  society  o*"  men,  may  wear  one  aspect  to  themselves  and 
their  companions,  and  a  different  aspect  to  higher  intelli- 
gences. Certain  priests,  whom  he  describes  as  conversing 
very  learnedly  together,  appeared  to  the  children,  who  were  at 
some  distance,  like  dead  horses  :  and  many  the  like  misappear- 
ances.  And  instantly  the  mind  inquires,  whether  these  fishes 
under  the  bridge,  yonder  oxen  in  the  pasture,  those  dogs  in 
the  yard,  are  immutably  fishes,  oxen,  and  dogs  or  onlv  so  ajw- 


THE  POET.  a 

pear  to  me,  and  perchance  to  themselves  appear  upright  men 
and  whether  I  appear  as  a  man  to  all  eyes.  The  Bramins  and 
Pythagoras  propounded  the  same  question,  and  if  any  poet 
has  witnessed  the  transformation,  he  doubtless  found  it  in  has 
mony  with  various  experiences.  "We  have  all  seen  changes  as 
considerable  in  wheat  and  caterpillars.  He  is  the  poet,  and 
shall  draw  us  with  love  and  terror,  who  sees,  through  the  flow- 
ing vest,  the  firm  nature,  and  can  declare  it. 

I  look  in  vain  for  the  poet  whom  I  describe.  We  do  not, 
with  sufficient  plainness,  or  sufficient  profoundness,  address 
ourselves  to  life,  nor  dare  we  chaunt  our  own  times  and  social 
circumstance.  If  we  filled  the  day  with  bravery,  we  should 
not  shrink  from  celebrating  it.  Time  and  nature  yield  ua 
many  gifts,  but  not  yet  the  timely  man,  the  new  religion,  the 
reconciler,  whom  all  things  await  Dante's  praise  is,  that  he 
dared  to  write  his  autobiography ..  -»  colossal  cipher,  or  into 
universality.  We  have  yet  had  no  fc^nius  in  America,  with 
tyrannous  eye,  which  knew  the  valuw  of  our  incomparable 
materials,  and  saw,  in  the  barbarism  and  materialism  of  the 
times,  another  carnival  of  the  same  gods  whose  picture  he  so 
much  admires  in  Homer;  then  in  the  middle  age;  then  in 
Calvinism.  Banks  and  tariffs,  the  newspaper  and  caucus, 
methodism  and  unitarianism,  are  flat  and  dull  to  dull  people, 
but  rest  on  the  same  foundations  of  wonder  as  the  town  of 
Troy,  and  the  temple  of  Delphos,  and  are  as  swiftly  passing 
away.  Our  logrolling,  our  stumps  and  their  politics,  our  fish- 
eries, our  Negroes,  and  Indians,  our  boats,  and  our  repudia* 
tions,  the  wrath  of  rogues,  and  the  pusillanimity  of  honest 
men,  the  northern  trade,  the  southern  planting,  the  western 
clearing,  Oregon,  and  Texas,  are  yet  unsung.  Yet  America 
is  a  poem  in  our  eyes ;  its  ample  geography  dazzles  the  imagi- 
nation, and  it  will  not  wait  long  for  metres.  If  I  have  not 
found  that  excellent  combination  of  gifts  in  my  countrymen 
which  I  seek,  neither  could  I  aid  myself  to  fix  the  idea  of  the 
poet  by  reading  now  and  then  in  Chalmers's  collection  of  five 
centuries  of  English  poets.  These  are  wits,  more  than  poets, 
though  there  have  been  poets  among  them.  But  when  we  ad- 
here to  the  ideal  of  the  poet,  we  have  our  difficulties  evenwiU 
Milton  and  Homer.  Milton  is  too  literary,  and  Homer  too 
literal  and  historical. 

But  I  am  not  wise  enough  for  a  national  criticism,  and  must 
use  the  old  largeness  a  little  longer,  to  discharge  my  errand 
from  the  muse  to  the  poet  concerning  his  art. 

Art  is  the  path  of  the  creator  to  his  work.  The  paths,  or 
methods,  are  ideal  and  eternal,  though  few  men  ever  see  them, 


jSt  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

not  the  artist  himself  for  years,  or  for  a  lifetime,  unless  he 
come  into  the  conditions.  The  painter,  the  sculptor,  the  com- 
poser,  the  epic  rhapsodist,  the  orator,  all  partake  one  desire, 
namely,  to  express  themselves  symmetrically  and  abundantly, 
not  dwarfishly  and  fragmentary.  They  found  or  put  them 
selves  in  certain  conditions,  as,  the  painter  and  sculptor  before 
some  impressive  human  figures ;  the  orator,  into  the  asseinbh 
of  the  people  ;<  and  the  others,  in  such  scenes  as  each  has  found 
exciting  to  his  intellect ;  and  each  presently  feels  the  new  de- 
sire. He  hears  a  voice,  he  sees  a  beckoning.  Then  he  is  ap- 
prised, with  wonder,  what  herds  of  daemons  hem  him  in.  He 
can  no  more  rest ;  he  says,  with  the  old  painter,  "  By  God,  it 
is  in  me,  and  must  go  forth  of  me."  He  pursues  a  beauty, 
half  seen,  which  flies  before  him.  The  poet  pours  out  verses 
in  every  solitude.  Most  of  the  things  he  says  are  conven- 
tional, no  doubt ;  but  by  and  by  he  says  something  which  is 
original  and  beautiful.  That  charms  him.  He  would  say 
nothing  else  but  such  things.  In  our  way  of  talking,  we  say, 
1  That  is  yours,  this  is  mine ; '  but  the  poet  knows  well  that  it 
is  not  his ;  that  it  is  as  strange  and  beautiful  to  him  as  to  you ; 
he  would  fain  hear  the  like  eloquence  at  length.  Once  having 
tasted  this  immortal  ichor,  he  cannot  have  enough  of  it,  and, 
as  an  admirable  creative  power  exists  in  these  intellections,  it 
is  of  the  last  importance  that  these  things  get  spoken.  What 
a  little  of  all  we  know  is  said !  What  drops  of  all  the  sea  of 
our  science  are  baled  up  !  and  by  what  accident  it  is  that  these 
are  exposed,  when  so  many  secrets  sleep  in  nature !  Hence 
the  necessity  of  speech  and  song ;  hence  these  throbs  and 
heart-beatings  in  the  orator,  at  the  door  of  the  assembly,  to 
the  end,  namely,  that  thought  may  be  ejaculated  as  Logos,  or 
Word. 

Doubt  not,  0  poet,  but  persist.  Say, '  It  is  in  me,  and  shall 
out.'  Stand  there,  baulked  and  dumb,  stuttering  and  stam- 
mering, hissed  and  hooted,  stand  and  strive,  until,  at  last,  rage 
draw  out  of  thee  that  dream-power  which  every  night  shows; 
thee  is  thine  own ;  a  power  transcending  all  limit  and  privacy, 
and  by  virtue  of  which  a  man  is  the  conductor  of  the  whole 
river  of  electricity.  Nothing  walks,  or  creeps,  or  grows,  or 
exists,  which  must  not  in  turn  arise  and  walk  before  him  as 
exponent  of  his  meaning.  Comes  he  to  that  power,  his  genius 
is  no  longer  exhaustible.  All  the  creatures,  by  pairs  and  by 
tribes,  pour  into  his  mind  as  into  a  Noah's  ark,  to  come  forth 
again  to  people  a  new  world.  This  is  like  the  stock  of  air  for 
Our  respiration,  or  for  the  combustion  of  our  fireplace,  not  a 
measure  of  gallons,  but  tbe  ttttire  At.iri^r^tgre  if  wanted.  And 


THE  POET.  a 

&ei-efore  the  rich  poets,  as  Homer,  Cbaucer,  Shakspeare,  and 
Raphael,  have  obviously  no  limits  to  their  works,  except  the 
nits  of  their  lifetime,  and  resemble  a  mirror  carried  through 
e  street,  ready  to  render  an  image  of  every  created  thing. 
A  poet !  a  new  nobility  is  conferred  in  groves  and  pastures, 
s,nd  not  in  castles,  or  by  the  sword-blade,  any  longer.  The 
conditions  are  hard,  but  equal.  Thou  shalt  leave  the  world. 
md  know  the  muse  only.  Thou  shalt  not  know  any  longer 
ihe  times,  customs,  graces,  politics,  or  opinions  of  men,  but 
shalt  take  all  from  the  muse.  For  the  time  of  towns  is  tolled 
from  the  world  by  funereal  chimes,  but  in  nature  the  universal 
hours  are  counted  by  succeeding  tribes  of  animals  and  plants, 
and  by  growth  of  joy  on  joy.  God  wills  also  that  thou  ab- 
dicate a  manifold  and  duplex  life,  and  that  thou  be  content 
that  others  speak  for  thee.  Others  shall  be  thy  gentlemen, 
and  shall  represent  all  courtesy  and  worldly  life  for  thee; 
others  shall  do  the  great  and  resounding  actions  also.  Thou 
shalt  lie  close  hid  with  nature,  and  canst  not  be  afforded  to  the 
Capitol  or  the  Exchange.  The  world  is  full  of  renunciations 
and  apprenticeships,  and  this  is  thine  :  thou  must  pass  for  a 
fool  and  a  churl  for  a  long  season.  This  is  the  screen  and 
sheath  in  which  Pan  has  protected  his  well-beloved  flower,  and 
thou  shalt  be  known  only  to  thine  own,  and  they  shall  console 
thee  with  tenderest  love.  And  thou  shalt  not  be  able  to  re- 
hearse the  names  of  thy  friends  in  thy  verse,  for  an  old  shame 
before  the  holy  ideal.  And  this  is  t>he  reward :  that  the  ideal 
shall  be  real  to  thee,  and  the  impressions  of  the  actual  world 
shall  fall  like  summer  rain,  copious,  but  not  troublesome,  to 
thy  invulnerable  essence.  Thou  shalt  have  the  whole  land  for 
thy  park  and  manor,  the  sea  for  thy  bath  and  navigation, 
without  tax  and  without  envy ;  the  woods  and  the  rivers  thou 
shalt  own ;  and  thou  shalt  possess  that  wherein  others  are  only 
tenants  and  boarders.  Thou  true  land-lord!  sea-lord!  air- 
lord  I  Wherever  snow  falls,  or  water  flows,  or  birds  fly,  where- 
ever  day  and  night  meet  in  twilight,  wherever  the  blue  heaven 
is  hung  by  clouds,  or  sown  with  stars,  wherever  are  forms  with 
transparent  boundaries,  wherever  are  outlets  into  celestial 
space,  wherever  is  danger,  and  awe,  and  love,  there  is  Beauty, 
plenteous  as  rain,  shed  for  thee,  and  though  thou  shouldesk 
walk  the  world  over,  thou  shalt  not  be  able  to  find  a  conditioi 
inopportune  or  ignobl* 


EXPERIENCE 


THE  lords  of  life,  the  lords  of  life, 
I  saw  them  pass, 
In  their  own  guise, 
Like  and  nnlike, 
Portly  and  grim, 
Use  and  Surprise, 
Surface  and  Dream, 
Succession  swift,  and  spectral  Wrong, 
Temperament  without  a  tongue, 
And  the  inventor  of  the  game 
Omnipresent  without  name ; — 
Some  to  see,  some  to  be  guessed, 
They  marched  from  east  to  west: 
Little  man,  least  of  all, 
Among  the  legs  of  his  guardians  tall, 
Walked  about  with  puzzled  look  : — 
Him  by  the  hand  dear  nature  took; 
Dearest  nature,  strong  and  kind, 
Whispered,  'Darling,  nevermind! 
To-morrow  they  will  wear  another  face, 
The  founder  thbu!  these  are  thy  race! ' 

CM 


I 


J 


"ft  HERE  i( 
Lot  know  tt 


ESSAY  IL 
EXPERIENCE. 

we  find  ourselves  ?    In  a  series  of  which  we  do 
extremes,  and  believe  that  it  has  none.     We 


wake  and  fi^d  ourselves  on  a  stair ;  there  are  stairs  below  us. 
which  wt  seejm  to  have  ascended ;  there  are  stairs  above  us, 
many  a  one,  which  go  upward  and  out  of  sight.  But  the 
Genius  which,  according  to  the  old  belief,  stands  at  the  door 
by  which  we  enter,  and  gives  us  the  lethe  to  drink,  that  we 
may  tell  no  sales,  mixed  the  cup  too  strongly,  and  we  cannot 
shake  off  tha  lethargy  now  at  noonday.  Sleep  lingers  all  our 
lifetime  about  our  eyes,  as  night  hovers  all  day  in  the  boughs 
of  the  fir-tree.  All  things  swim  and  glitter.  Our  life  is  not 
so  much  threatened  as  our  perception.  Ghostlike  we  glide 
through  nature,  and  should  not  know  our  place  again.  Did 
our  birth  fall  in  some  fit  of  indigence  and  frugality  in  nature, 
that  she  was  so  sparing  of  her  fire  and  so  liberal  of  hor  earth. 
that  it  appears  to  us  that  we  lack  the  affirmative  principle, 
and  though  we  have  health  and  reason,  yet  we  have  no  super- 
fluity of  spirit  for  new  creation  ?  We  have  enough  to  live 
and  bring  the  year  about,  but  not  an  ounce  to  impart  or  to  in- 
vest. Ah  that  our  Genius  were  a  little  more  of  a  genius  I 
We  are  like  millers  on  the  lower  levels  of  a  stream,  when  the 
factories  above  them  have  exhausted  the  water.  We  too  fancy 
that  the  upper  people  must  have  raised  their  dams. 

If  any  of  us  knew  what  we  were  doing,  or  where  we  ait 
going,  then  when  we  think  we  best  know  1  We  do  not  know 
so-day  whether  we  are  busy  or  idle.  In  times  when  we 
thought  ourselves  indolent,  we  have  afterwards  discovered, 
that  much  was  accomplished,  and  much  was  begun  in  us.  All 
our  days  are  so  unprofitable  while  they  pass,  that  'tis  wonder- 
ful where  or  when  we  ever  got  anything  of  this  which  we  call 
wisdom,  poetry,  virtue.  We  never  got  it  on  any  dated  calen- 
dar day.  Some  heavenly  days  must  have  been  intercalated 
somewhere,  like  those  that  Hermes  won  with  dice  of  the 
Moon,  ti  at  Osiris  might  be  bom.  It  is  said,  all  martyrdoms 
looked  r  -can  when  they  were  suffered.  Every  ship  is  a  roman- 
tic ohie-;t.  except  that  we  sail  in.  Embark,  and  the  romance 

cm 


28  EMERSON1  S  ESSAYS,   I 

u 

quits  our  vessel,  and  hangs  on  every  other  si  il  in  the  horizon. 
Our  life  looks  trivial,  and  we  shun  to  record  \t.  Men  seem  to 
have  learned  of  the  horizon  the  art  of  perpi'tual  retreating 
and  reference.  '  Yonder  uplands  are  rich  pa^urage,  and  my 
neighbor  has  fertile  meadow,  but  my  field,'  says  the  querulous 
farmer,  '  only  holds  the  world  together.'  I  oj  'ote  another 
man's  saying ;  unluckily,  that  other  withdraws  L  mself  in  the 
same  wa}r,  and  quotes  me.  *  'Tis  the  trick  of  n^aur?  1'ius  to 
degrade  to-day ;  a  good  deal  of  buzz,  and  some\v  j;re  n  result 
slipped  magically  in.  Every  roof  is  agreeable  tq>  {be  eye,  un- 
til it  is  lifted ;  then  we  find  tragedy  and  moaning;  ^omen,  and 
hard-eyed  husbands,  and  deluges  of  lethe,  and  1,'he  men  ask, 
1  What's  the  news  ? '  as  if  the  old  were  so  bad.  Ilow  many  in- 
dividuals can  we  count  in  society  ?  how  many  actions  ?  how 
many  opinions?  So  much  of  our  time  is  preparation,  so  much 
is  routine,  and  so  much  retrospect,  that  the  pitch  of  each  man's 
genius  contracts  itself  to  a  very  few  hours.  The  history  of 
literature — take  the  net  result  of  Tiraboschi,  Wartori,  or 
Schlegel,— is  a  sum  of  very  few  ideas,  and  of  very  few  original 
tales, — all  the  rest  being  variation  of  these.  So  in  this  great 
society  wide  lying  around  us,  a  critical  analysis  would  find  very 
few  spontaneous  actions.  It  is  almost  all  custom  and  gross 
sense.  There  are  even  few  opinions,  and  these  seem  organic 
in  the  speakers,  and  do  not  disturb  the  universal  necessity-. 

What  opium  is  instilled  into  all  disaster !  It  shows  formid- 
able as  we  approach  it,  but  there  is  at  last  no  rough  rasping 
friction,  but  the  most  slippery  sliding  surfaces.  We  fall  soft 
on  a  thought.  Ate  Dea  is  gentle, 

"  Over  men's  heads  walking  aloft, 
With  tender  feet  treading  so  soft." 

People  grieve  and  bennan  themselves,  but  it  is  not  half  so  bad 
with  them  as  they  say.  There  are  moods  in  which  we  court 
suffering,  in  the  hope  that  here,  at  least,  we  shall  find  reality, 
sharp  peaks  and  edges  of  truth.  But  it  turns  out  to  be  scene- 
painting  and  counterfeit.  The  only  thing  grief  has  taught 
me,  is  to  know  how  shallow  it  is.  That,  like  all  the  rest,  plays 
about  the  surface,  and  never  introduces  me  into  the  reality, 
for  con! net  with  which,  we  would  even  pay  the  costly  price  of 
sons  and  lovers.  Was  it  Boscovich  who  found  out  that  bodies 
never  come  in  contact  ?  Well,  souls  never  touch  their  objects. 
An  innavigable  sea  washes  with  silent  waves  between  us  and 
the  tilings  \ve  aim  at  and  converse  with.  Grief  too  will  make 
us  idealists.  In  the  death  of  my  son,  now  more  than  two 
years  ago.  I  seem  to  have  lost  a  beautiful  estate.— to  more.  I 


EXPERIENCE.  A. 

cannot  get  it  nearer  to  me.  If  to-morrow  1  should  be  informed 
of  the  bankruptcy  of  my  principal  debtors,  the  loss  of  my 
property  would  be  a  great  inconvenience  to  me,  perhaps,  for 
many  years ;  but  it  would  leave  me  as  it  found  me,— neither 
better  nor  worse.  So  is  it  with  this  calamity  :  it  does  not 
touch  me :  some  thing  which  I  fancied  was  a  part  of  me, 
which  could  not  be  torn  away  without  tearing  me,  nor  enlarged 
without  enriching  me,  falls  off  from  me,  and  leaves  no  scar. 
It  was  caducous.  I  grieve  that  grief  can  teach  me  nothing  . 
nor  carry  me  one  step  into  real  nature.  The  Indian  who  was  < 
laid  under  a  curse,  that  the  wind  should  not  blow  on  him,  nor 
water  flow  to  him,  nor  fire  burn  him,  is  a  type  of  us  all.  The 
dearest  events  are  summer-rain,  and  we  the  Para  coats  that 
shed  every  drop.  Nothing  is  left  us  now  but  death.  We  look 
to  that  with  a  grim  satisfaction,  saying,  there  at  least  is  reality 
that  will  not  dodge  us. 

I  take  this  evanescence  and  lubricity  of  all  objects,  which  lets 
them  slip  through  our  fingers  then  when  we  clutch  hardest,  to 
be  the  moot  unhandsome  part  of  our  condition.  Nature  does 
not  like  to  be  observed,  and  likes  that  we  should  be  her  fools 
and  playmates.  We  may  have  the  sphere  for  our  cricket-ball, 
but  not  a  berry  for  our  philosophy.  Direct  strokes  she  never 
gave  us  power  to  make ;  all  our  blows  glance,  all  our  hits  are 
accidents.  Our  relations  to  each  other  are  oblique  and  casual. 

Dream  delivers  us  to  dream,  and  there  is  no  end  to  illusion. 
Life  is  a  train  of  moods  like  a  string  of  beads,  and  as  we  pass 
through  them,  they  prove  to  be  many-colored  lenses  which 
paint  the  world  their  own  hue,  and  each  shows  only  what  lies 
in  its  focus.     From  the  mountain  you  see  the  mountain.    We 
animate  what  we  can,  and  we  see  only  what  we  animate.     Na- 
ture and  books  belong  to  the  eyes  that  see  them.     It  depends 
on  the  mood  of  the  man,  whether  he  shall  see  the  sunst 
fine   poem.     There  are  always  sunsets,  and  there  is.-ilv.* 
genius ;  but  only  a  few  hours  so  serene  that  we  can  relish  nu 
ture  or  criticism.     The  more  or  less  depends  on  structure  or 
temperament.     Temperament  is  the  iron  wire  on  which  the 
beads  are  strung.     Of  what  use  is  fortune  or  talent  to  a  cold 
and  defective  nature  ?    Who  cares  what  sensibility  or  discrim- 
ination a  man  has  at  some  time  shown,  if  he  falls  asleep  in  his 
chair  ?  or  if  he  laugh  and  giggle  ?  or  if  he  apologize  ?  or  is 
affected  with  egotism  f  or  thinks  of  his  dollar  ?  or  cannot  go 
by    food?    or    has    gotten    a    child    in    his    boyhood? 
what    use    is    genius,  if  the  organ   is  too  convex  or    too 
concave,  and   cannot  find  a  focal  distance  within  the  actum 


30  EMERSON' 8  ESSAYS. 

horizon  of  human  life?  Of  what  use,  if  the  brain  is  too 
cold  or  too  hot,  and  the  man  does  not  care  enough  for  results, 
to  stimulate  him  to  experiment,  and  hold  him  up  in  it  ?  or  if 
the  web  is  too  finely  woven,  too  irritable  by  pleasure  and  pain, 
so  that  life  stagnates  from  too  much  reception,  without  due 
outlet  ?  Of  what  use  to  make  heroic  vows  of  amendment,  if 
the  same  old  lawbreaker  is  to  keep  them  ?  What  cheer  can  the 
religious  sentiment  yield,  when  that  is  suspected  to  be  secretly 
lependent  on  the  seasons  of  the  year,  and  the  state  of  the 
>lood  ?  I  knew  a  witty  physician  who  found  theology  in  the 
ciliary  duct,  and  used  to  affirm  that  if  there  was  disease  in  the 
liver,  the  man  became  a  Calvinist,  and  if  that  organ  was 
sound,  he  became  a  Unitarian.  Very  mortifying  is  the  reluc- 
tant experience  that  some  unfriendly  excess  or  imbecility 
neutralizes  the  promise  of  genius.  We  see  young  men  who 
owe  us  a  new  world,  so  readily  and  lavishly  they  promise,  but 
they  never  acquit  the  debt ;  they  die  young  and  dodge  the  ae- 
count :  or  if  they  live,  they  lose  themselves  in  the  crowd. 

Temperament  also  enters  fully  into  the  system  of  illusions, 
and  shuts  us  in  a  prison  of  glass  which  we  cannot  see.  There 
is  an  optical  illusion  about  every  person  we  meet.  In  truth, 
they  are  all  creatures  of  given  temperament,  which  will  ap- 
pear in  a  given  character,  whose  boundaries  they  will  never 
pass  :  but  we  look  at  them,  they  seem  alive,  and  we  presume 
there  is  impulse  in  them.  In  the  moment  it  seems  impulse ;  in 
the  year,  in  the  lifetime,  it  turns  out  to  be  a  certain  uniform 
tune  which  the  revolving  barrel  of  the  music-box  must  play. 
Men  assist  the  conclusion  in  the  morning,  but  adopt  it  as  the 
evening  wears  on,  that  temper  prevails  over  everything  of 
time,  place,  and  condition,  and  is  inconsumable  in  the  flames 
of  religion.  Some  modifications  the  moral  sentiment  avails  to 
impose,  but  the  individual  texture  holds  its  dominion,  if  not 
to  bias  the  moral  judgments,  yet  to  fix  the  measure  of  activity 
rnd  of  enjoyment. 

I  thus  express  the  law  as  it  is  read  from  the  platform  of 
ordinary  life,  but  must  not  leave  it  without  noticing  the  capital 
exception.  For  temperament  is  a  power  which  no  man  will- 
ingly hears  any  one  praise  but  himself.  On  the  platform  of 
physics,  we  cannot  resist  the  contracting  influences  of  so-called 
science.  Temperament  puts  all  divinity  to  rout.  I  know  the 
mental  proclivity  of  physicians.  I  hear  the  chuckle  of  the 
phrenologists.  Theoretic  kidnappers  and  slave-drivers,  they 
esteem  each  man  the  victim  of  another,  who  winds  him  round 
his  finger  by  knowing  the  law  of  his  being,  and  by  such  cheap 
Signboards  as  the  color  of  his  beard,  or  the  slope  of  his  occiput, 


EXPERIENCE.  a 

reads  the  inventory  of  his  fortunes  and  character.  The  gross- 
est ignorance  does  not  disgust  like  this  impudent  knowingness. 
Ihe  physicians  say,  they  are  not  materialists ;  but  they  are  :— 
Spirit  is  matter  reduced  to  an  extreme  thinness  :  O  so  thin! 
—But  the  definition  of  spiritual  should  be,  that  which  is  its 
awn  evidence.  What  notions  do  they  attach  to  love  !  what  to 
teligior  !  One  would  not  willingly  pronounce  these  words  in 
their  hearing,  and  give  them  the  occasion  to  profane  them.  I 
saw  a  gracious  gentleman  who  adapts  his  conversation  to  the 
form  of  the  head  of  the  man  he  talks  with !  1  had  fancied 
that  the  value  of  life  lay  in  its  inscrutable  possibilities  ;  in  the 
fact  that  I  never  know,  in  addressing  myself  to  a  new  in- 
dividual, what  may  befall  me.  I  carry  the  keys  of  my  castle 
in  my  hand,  ready  to  throw  them  at  the  feet  of  my  lord,  when- 
ever and  in  what  disguise  soever  he  shall  appear.  I  know  he 
is  in  the  neighborhood  hidden  among  vagabonds.  Shall  I  pre- 
clude my  future,  by  taking  a  high  seat,  and  kindly  adapting 
my  conversation  to  the  shape  of  heads  ?  When  I  come  to 

that,  the  doctors  shall  buy  me  for  a  cent. 'But,  sir, 

medical  history  ;  the  report  to  the  Institute  ;  the  proven  facts  1  * 
' — I  distrust  the  facts  and  the  inferences.  Temperament  is  the 
veto  or  limitation-power  in  the  constitution,  very  justly  ap- 
plied to  restrain  an  opposite  excess  in^the  constitution,  but 
absurdly  offered  as  a  bar  to  original  equity.  When  virtue  is 
in  presence,  all  subordinate  powers  sleep.  On  its  own  level, 
or  in  view  of  nature,  temperament  is  final.  I  see  not,  if  one 
be  once  caught  in  this  trap  of  so-called  sciences,  any  escape  for 
the  man  from  the  links  of  the  chain  of  physical  necessity. 
Given  such  an  embryo,  such  a  history  must  follow.  On  this 
platform,  one  lives  in  a  sty  of  sensualism,  and  would  soon 
come  to  suicide.  But  it  is  impossible  that  the  creative  power 
should  exclude  itself.  Into  every  intelligence  there  is  a  door 
which  is  never  closed,  through  which  the  creator  passes.  The 
intellect,  seeker  of  absolute  truth,  or  the  heart,  lover  of  abso- 
lute good,  intervenes  for  our  succor,  and  at  one  whisper  of 
these  high  powers,  we  awake  from  ineffectual  struggles  with 
this  nightmare.  We  hurl  it  into  its  own  hell,  and  cannot 
again  contract  ourselves  to  so  base  a  state. 

The  secret  of  the  illusoriness  is  in  the  necessity  of  a  succes- 
sion of  moods  or  objects.  Gladly  we  would  anchor,  but  the 
anchorage  is  quicksand.  This  onward  trick  of  nature  is  too 
strong  for  us  :  Pero  si  muove.  When,  at  night,  I  look  at  the 
moon  and  stars,  I  seem  stationary,  and  they  to  hurry.  Our 
V>ve  of  the  real  draws  us  to  permanence,  but  health  of  bodj 


V  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

consists  in  circulation,  and  sanity  of  mind  in  variety  or  facility 
of  association.  We  need  change  of  objects.  Dedication  to 
one  thought  is  quickly  odious.  We  house  with  the  insane, 
and  must  humor  them  ;  then  conversation  dies  out.  Once  I 
took  such  delight  in  Montaigne,  that  I  thought  I  should  not 
need  any  other  book ;  before  that,  in  Shakspeare ;  then  in 
Plutarch  ;  then  in  Plotinus  ;  at  one  time  in  Bacon  ;  afterwards 
in  Goethe ;  even  in  Bettine  ;  but  now  I  turn  the  pages  of 
either  of  them  languidly,  whilst  I  still  cherish  their  genius. 
So  with  pictures ;  each  will  bear  an  emphasis  of  attention 
once,  which  it  cannot  retain,  though  we  fain  would  continue  to 
be  pleased  in  that  manner.  How  strongly  I  have  felt  of  pic- 
tures, that  when  you  have  seen  one  well,  you  must  take  your 
leave  of  it ;  you  shall  never  see  it  again.  I  have  bad  good 
lessons  from  pictures,  which  I  have  since  seen  witiiout  emo- 
tion or  remark.  A  deduction  must  be  made  from  the  opinion, 
which  even  the  wise  express  of  a  new  book  or  occurrence. 
Their  opinion  gives  me  tidings  of  their  mood,  and  some  vague 
guess  at  the  new  fact,  but  is  nowise  to  be  trusted  as  the  last- 
ing relation  between  that  intellect  and  that  thing.  The  child 
asks,  '  Mamma,  why  don't  I  like  the  story  as  well  as  when 
you  told  it  me  yesterday  ?  '  Alas,  child,  it  is  even  so  with  the 
oldest  cherubim  of  knowledge.  But  will  it  answer  thy  ques- 
tion to  say,  Because  thou  wert  born  to  a  whole,  and  this  story 
is  a  particular  ?  The  reason  of  the  pain  this  discovery  causes 
us  (and  we  make  it  late  in  respect  to  wrorks  of  art  and  intel- 
lect), is  the  plaint  of  tragedy  which  murmurs  from  it  in  re- 
gard to  persons,  to  friendship  and  love. 

That  immobility  and  absence  of  elasticity  which  we  find  in 
the  arts,  we  find  with  more  pain  in  the  artist.  There  is  no 
power  of  expansion  in  men.  Our  friends  early  appear  to  us 
as  representatives  of  certain  ideas,  which  they  never  pass  or 
exceed.  They  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  ocean  of  thought  and 
power,  but  they  never  take  the  single  step  that  would  bring 
them  there.  A  man  is  like  a  bit  of  Labrador  spar,  which  has 
no  lustre  as  you  turn  it  in  your  hand,  until  you  come  to  a  par- 
ticular angle  ;  then  it  shows  deep  and  beautiful  colors.  There 
is  no  adaptation  or  universal  applicability  in  men,  but  each  has 
his  special  talent,  and  the  mastery  of  successful  men  consists 
in  adroitly  keeping  themselves  where  and  when  that  turn  shall 
be  oftenest  to  be  practised.  We  do  what  we  must,  and  call  it 
by  the  best  names  we  can,  and  would  fain  have  the  praise  of 
having  intended  the  result  which  ensues.  I  cannot  recall  any 
form  of  man  who  is  not  superfluous  sometimes.  But  is  not 
this  pitiful  ?  Life  is  not  worth  the  taking,  to  do  tricks  in. 


EXPERIENCE.  8 

Of  course,  it  needs  the  whole  society,  to  give  the  symmetry 
we  seek.  The  parti-colored  wheel  must  revolve  very  fast  to 
appear  white.  Something  is  learned  too  by  conversing  with 
so  much  folly  and  defect.  In  fine,  whoever  loses,  we  are  al- 
ways of  the  gaining  party.  Divinity  is  behind  our  failures 
and  follies  also.  The  plays  of  children  are  nonsense,  but  very 
educative  nonsense.  So  it  is  with  the  largest  and  solemnest 
things,  with  commerce,  government,  church,  marriage,  and  so 
with  wa  history  of  every  man's  bread,  and  the  ways  by  which 
he  is  to  come  by  it.  Like  a  bird  which  alights  nowhere,  but 
hops  perpetually  from  bough  to  bough,  is  the  Power  which 
abides  in  no  man  and  in  no  woman,  but  for  a  moment  speaks 
from  this  one,  and  for  another  moment  from  that  one. 

But  what  help  from  these  fineries  or  pedantries?  What 
help  from  thought  if  Life  is  not  dialectics.  We,  I  think,  in 
these  times,  have  had  lessons  enough  of  the  futility  of  criti- 
cism. Our  young  people  have  thought  and  written  much  on 
labor  and  reform,  and  for  all  that  they  have  written,  neither 
the  world  nor  themselves  have  got  on  a  step.  Intellectual 
tasting  of  life  will  not  supersede  muscular  activity.  If  a  man 
should  consider  the  nicety  of  the  passage  of  a  piece  of  bread 
down  his  throat,  he  would  starve.  At  Education-Farm,  the 
noblest  theory  of  life  sat  on  the  noblest  figures  of  young  men 
and  maidens,  quite  powerless  and  melancholy.  It  would  not 
rake  or  pitch  a  ton  of  hay ;  it  would  not  rub  down  a  horse ; 
and  the  men  and  maidens  it  left  pale  and  hungry.  A  political 
orator  wittily  compared  our  party  promises  to  western  roads, 
which  opened  stately  enough,  with  planted  trees  on  either 
side,  to  tempt  the  traveller,  but  soon  became  narrower  and 
narrower,  and  ended  in  a  squirrel-track,  and  ran  up  a  tree.  So 
does  culture  with  us ;  it  ends  in  headache.  Unspeakably  sad 
and  barren  does  life  look  to  those,  who  a  few  months  ago  were 
dazzled  with  the  splendor  of  the  promise  of  the  times.  "  There 
is  now  no  longer  any  right  course  of  action,  nor  any  self-de- 
votion left  among  the  Iranis."  Objections  and  criticism  we 
have  ha3  our  fill  of.  There  are  objections  to  every  course  of 
life  and  action,  and  the  practical  wisdom  infers  an  indiflerency, 
from  the  omnipresence  of  objection.  The  whole  frame  of  things 
preaches  indifferency.  Do  not  craze  yourself  with  thinking, 
but  go  about  your  business  anywhere.  Life  is  not  intellectual 
or  critical,  but  sturdy.  Its  chief  good  is  for  well-mixed  people 
who  can  enjoy  what  they  find,  without  question.  Nature 
hates  peeping,  and  our  mothers  speak  her  very  sense  when 
they  say, "  Children,  eat  your  victual*,  and  say  no  more  of 

* 


84  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

it."  To  fill  the  hour,— that  is  happiness ;  to  fill  the  hour,  and 
leave  no  crevice  for  a  repentance  or  an  approval.  We  live 
amid  surfaces,  and  the  true  art  of  life  is  to  skate  well  on  them. 
Under  the  oldest  mouldiest  conventions,  a  man  of  native  force 
prospers  just  as  well  as  in  the  newest  world,  and  that  by  skill 
of  handling  and  treatment.  He  can  take  hold  anywhere.  Life 
itself  is  a  mixture  of  power  and  form,  and  will  not  bear  the 
least  excess  of  either.  To  finish  the  moment,  to  find  the 
journey's  end  in  every  step  of  the  road,  to  live  the  greatest 
number  of  good  hours,  is  wisdom.  It  is  not  the  part  of  men, 
but  of  fanatics,  or  of  mathematicians,  if  you  will,  to  say,  that, 
the  shortness  of  life  considered,  it  is  not  worth  caring  whether 
for  so  short  a  duration  we  were  sprawling  in  want,  or  sitting 
high.  Since  our  office  is  with  moments,  let  us  husband  them. 
Five  minutes  of  to-day  are  worth  as  much  to  me,  as  five  min- 
ates  in  the  next  millennium.  Let  us  be  poised,  and  wise,  and 
our  own  to-day.  Let  us  treat  the  men  and  women  well :  treat 
them  as  if  they  were  real :  perhaps  they  are.  Men  live  in  their 
fancy,  like  drunkards  whose  hands  are  too  soft  and  tremulous 
for  successful  labor.  It  is  a  tempest  of  fancies,  and  the  only 
ballast  I  know,  is  a  respect  to  the  present  hour.  Without  any 
shadow  of  doubt,  amidst  this  vertigo  of  shows  and  politics,  I 
settle  myself  ever  the  firmer  in  the  creed,  that  we  should  not 
postpone  and  refer  and  wish,  but  do  broad  justice  where  we 
are,  by  whomsoever  we  deal  with,  accepting  our  actual  com- 
panions and  circumstances,  however  humble  or  odious,  as  the 
mystic  officials  to  whom  the  universe  has  delegated  its  whole 
pleasure  for  us.  If  these  are  mean  and  malignant,  their  con. 
tentment,  which  is  the  last  victory  of  justice,  is  a  more  sati^ 
fying  echo  to  the  heart,  than  the  voice  of  poets  and  the  casual 
sympathy  of  admirable  persons.  I  think  that  however  a 
thoughtful  man  may  suffer  from  the  defects  and  absurdities  of 
his  company,  he  cannot  without  affectation  deny  to  any  set  of 
men  and  women,  a  sensibility  to  extraordinary  me?/:  The 
coarse  and  frivolous  have  an  instinct  of  superiority,  ;f  they 
have  not  a  sympathy,  and  honor  it  in  their  blind  capricious 
way  with  sincere  homage. 

The  fine  young  people  despise  life,  but  in  me,  and  in  such 
as  with  me  are  free  from  dyspepsia,  and  to  whom  a  day  is  a 
sound  and  solid  good,  it  is  a  great  excess  of  politeness  to  look 
scornful  and  to  cry  for  company.  I  am  grown  by  sympathy 
a  little  eager  and  sentimental,  but  leave  me  alone,  and  I  should 
relish  every  hour  and  what  it  brought  me,  the  potluck  of  the 
day,  as  heartily  as  the  oldest  gossip  in  the  barroom.  I  am 
thankful  for  small  mercies.  1  compared  notes  with  one  of  my 


EXPERIENCE.  38 

friends  who  expects  everything  of  the  tuiverse,  and  is  disap- 

rinted  when  anything  is  less  than  the  best,  and  I  found  that 
begin  at  the  other  extreme,  expecting  nothing,  and  am  al- 
ways full  of  thanks  for  moderate  goods.  I  accept  the  clangor 
and  jangle  o  contrary  tendencies.  I  find  my  account  in  sots 
and  bores  also.  They  give  a  reality  to  the  circumjacent  pic- 
ture, which  such  a  vanishing  meteorous  appearance  can  ill 
spartc  In  the  morning  J  awake,  and  find  the  old  world,  wife. 
babes,  and  mother,  Concord  and  Boston,  the  dear  old  spiritual 
world,  and  even  the  dear  old  devil  not  far  off.  If  we  will  take 
the  good  we  find,  asking  no  questions,  we  shall  have  heaping 
measures.  The  great  gifts  are  not  got  by  analysis.  Every- 
thing  good  is  on  the  highway.  The  middle  region  of  our  being 
is  the  temperate  zone.  We  may  climb  into  the  thin  and  cold 
realm  of  pure  geometry  and  lifeless  science,  or  sink  into  that 
of  sensation.  Between  these  extremes  is  the  equator  of  life, 
of  thought,  of  spirit,  of  poetry, — a  narrow  belt.  Moreover,  in 
popular  experience,  everything  good  is  on  the  highway.  A 
collector  peeps  into  all  the  picture-shops  of  Europe,  for  a 
landscape  of  Poussin,  a  crayon-sketch  of  Salvator ;  but  the 
Transfiguration,  the  Last  Judgment,  the  Communion  of  St. 
Jerome,  and  what  are  as  transcendent  as  these,  are  on  the  walls 
of  the  Vatican,  the  Uffizii,  or  the  Louvre,  where  every  foot- 
man may  see  them ;  to  say  nothing  of  nature's  pictures  in 
every  street,  of  sunsets  and  sunrises  every  day,  and  the  sculp- 
ture of  the  human  body  never  absent.  A  collector  recently 
bought  at  public  auction,  in  London,  for  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
seven  guineas,  an  autograph  of  Shakspeare :  but  for  nothing 
a  schoolboy  can  read  Hamlet,  and  can  detect  secrets  of  high- 
est concernment  yet  unpublished  therein.  I  think  I  will  never 
read  any  but  the  commonest  books, — the  Bible,  Homer,  Dante, 
Shakspeare,  and  Milton.  Then  we  are  impatient  of  so  public 
a  life  and  planet,  and  run  hither  and  thither  for  nooks  and 
secrets.  The  imagination  delights  in  the  woodcraft  of  In- 
dian? trappers,  and  bee-hunters.  We  fancy  that  we  are 
strangers,  and  not  so  intimately  domesticated  in  the  planet  as 
the  wild  man  and  the  wild  beast  and  the  bird.  But  the  ex- 
clusion reaches  them  also  ;  reaches  the  climbing,  flying,  glid- 
ing, feathered  and  four-footed  man.  Fox  and  woodchuck, 
hawk  and  snipe,  and  bittern,  when  nearly  seen,  have  no  more 
root  in  the  deep  world  than  man,  and  are  just  such  superficial 
tenants  of  the  globe.  Then  the  new  molecular  philosophy 
shows  astronomical  interspaces  betwixt  atom  and  atom,  shows 
that  the  world  is  all  outside  :  it  has  no  inside. 
The  mid-world  is  best.  Nature,  as  we  know  her,  is  no  saint 


96  EMERSOtf'S  ESSAYS. 

The  lights  of  the  church,  the  ascetics,  Gentoos  and  Graham- 
ites,  she  does  not  distinguish  by  any  favor.  She  comes  eat- 
ing  and  drinking  and  sinning.  Her  darlings,  the  great,  the 
strong,  the  beautiful,  are  not  children  of  our  law,  do  not  come 
out  of  the  Sunday-School,  nor  weigh  their  food,  nor  punctu- 
ally keep  the  commandments.  If  we  will  be  strong  with  her 
strength,  we  must  not  harbor  such  disconsolate  consciences, 
borrowed  too  from  the  consciences  of  other  nations.  We 
must  set  up  the  strong  present  tense  against  all  the  rumors 
of  wrath,  past  or  to  come.  So  many  things  are  unsettled 
which  it  is  of  the  first  importance  to  settle, — and,  pending 
their  settlement,  we  will  do  as  we  do.  Whilst  the  debate  goes 
forward  on  the  equity  of  commerce,  and  will  net  be  closed  for 
a  centur}r  or  two,  New  and  Old  England  may  keep  shop.  Law 
of  copyright  and  international  copyright  is  to  be  discussed, 
and,  in  the  interim,  we  will  sell  our  books  for  the  most  we  can. 
Expediency  of  literature,  reason  of  literature,  lawfulness  of 
writing  down  a  thought,  is  questioned ;  much  is  to  say  on  both 
sides,  and,  while  the  fight  waxes  hot.  thou,  dearest  scholar, 
stick  to  thy  foolish  task,  add  a  line  every  hour,  and  between 
whiles  add  a  line.  Right  to  hold  land,  right  of  property,  is 
disputed,  and  the  conventions  convene,  and  before  the  vote  is 
taken,  dig  away  in  your  garden,  and  spend  your  earnings  as  a 
wr,-!f  or  godsend  to  all  serene  and  beautiful  purposes.  Life 
itself  is  a  bubble  and  a  skepticism,  and  a  sleep  within  a  sleep. 
Grant  it,  and  as  much  more  as  they  will, — but  thou,  God's 
darling !  heed  thy  private  dream  :  thou  wilt  not  be  missed  in 
the  scorning  and  skepticism  :  there  are  enough  of  them  :  stay 
there  in  thy  closet,  and  toil,  until  the  rest  are  agreed  what  to 
do  about  it.  Thy  sickness,  they  say,  and  thy  puny  habit,  re- 
quire  that  thou  do  this  or  avoid  that,  but  know  that  thy  life  is 
a  flitting  state,  a  tent  for  a  night,  and  do  thou,  sick  or  well, 
finish  that  stint.  Thou  art  sick,  but  shalt  not  be  worse  and 
the  universe,  which  holds  thee  dear,  shall  be  the  better. 

Human  life  is  made  up  of  the  two  elements,  power  anc: .,:;.  , 
and  the  proportion  must  be  invariably  kept,  if  we  would  have 
it  sweet  and  sound.  Each  of  these  elements  in  excess  makes 
a  mischief  as  hurtful  as  its  defect.  Everything  runs  to  ex- 
cees  :  every  good  quality  is  noxious,  if  unmixed,  and,  to  carry 
the  danger  to  the  edge  of  ruin,  nature  causes  each  man'r 
peculiarity  to  superabound.  Here,  among  the  farms,  we  ad- 
duce  the  scholars  as  examples  of  this  treachery.  They  are 
nature's  victims  of  expression.  You  who  see  the  artist,  the 
orator,  th.::  poet,  too  near,  and  find  their  life  no  more  excellent 
than  that  of  mechanics  or  farmers,  and  themselves  Trictims  C'" 


EXPERIENCE.  97 

partiality,  very  hollow  and  haggard,  and  pronounce  them  fail- 
ures, — not  heroes,  but  quacks, — conclude  very  reasonably, 
that  these  arts  are  not  for  man,  but  are  disease.  Yet  nature 
will  not  bear  you  out.  Irresistible  nature  made  men  such,  and 
makes  legions  more  of  such,  every  day.  You  love  the  boy 
reading  in  a  book,  gazing  at  a  drawing,  or  a  cast:  yet  what 
are  these  millions  who  read  and  behold,  but  incipient  writers 
and  sculptors  ?  Add  a  little  more  of  that  quality  whbL  now 
reads  and  sees,  and  they  will  seize  the  pen  and  c!  :sel.  And 
if  one  remembers  how  innocently  he  began  to  be  an  artist,  he 
perceives  that  nature  joined  with  his  enemy.  A  man  is  a 
golden  impossibility.  The  line  he  must  walk  is  a  hair's 
breadth.  The  wise  through  excess  of  wisdom  is  made  a  fool 

How  easily,  if  fate  would  suffer  it,  we  might  keep  forever 
these  beautiful  limits,  and  adjust  ourselves,  once  for  all,  to  the 
perfect  calculation  of  the  kingdom  of  known  cause  and  effect. 
In  the  street  and  in  the  newspapers,  life  appears  so  plain  a 
business,  that  manly  resolution  and  adherence  to  the  multipli- 
cation-table through  all  weathers,  will  insure  success.  But 
ah  !  presently  comes  a  day,  or  is  it  only  a  half-hour,  with  its 
angel-whispering, — which  discomfits  the  conclusions  of  nations 
and  of  years !  To-morrow  again,  everything  looks  real  and 
angular,  the  habitual  standards  are  reinstated,  common  sense 
is  as  rare  as  genius, — is  the  basis  of  genius,  and  experience  is 
hands  and  feet  to  every  enterprise ; — and  yet,  he  who  should 
do  his  business  on  this  understanding,  would  be  quickly  bank- 
rupt. Power  keeps  quite  another  road  than  the  turnpikes  of 
choice  and  will,  namely,  the  subterranean  and  invisible  tunnels 
and  channels  of  life.  It  is  ridiculous  that  we  are  diplomatists, 
and  doctors,  and  considerate  people :  there  are  no  dupes  like 
these.  Life  is  a  series  of  surprises,  and  would  not  be  worth 
taking  or  keeping,  if  it  were  not.  God  delights  to  isolate  us 
every  day,  and  hide  from  us  the  past  and  the  futuie.  We 
would  look  about  us,  but  with  grand  politeness  he  draws  down 
before  us  an  impenetrable  screen  of  purest  sky,  and  another  be- 
hind us  of  purest  sky.  *  You  will  not  remember,'  he  seems  to 
say,  '  and  you  will  not  expect.'  All  good  conversations,  man- 
ners, and  action,  come  from  a  spontaneity  which  forgets  usages, 
and  makes  the  moment  great.  Nature  hates  calculators ;  her 
methods  are  saltatory  and  impulsive.  Man  lives  by  pulses ; 
our  organic  movements  are  such  ;  and  the  chemical  and  ethe- 
real agents  are  undulatory  and  alternate  ;  and  the  mind  goes 
antagonizing  on,  and  never  prospers  but  by  fits.  We  thrive  by 
casualties.  Our  chief  experiences  have  been  casual  Tb« 


38  EMERSON1  S  ESSAYS. 

most  attractive  class  of  people  are  those  who  are  powerfr . 
obliquely,  and  not  by  the  direct  stroke:  men  of  genius,  brl 
not  yet  accredited  :  one  gets  the  cheer  of  their  light,  without 
paying  too  great  a  tax.  Theirs  is  the  beauty  of  the  bird,  or 
the  morning  light,  and  not  of  art.  In  the  thought  of  genius 
there  is  always  a  surprise ;  and  the  moral  sentiment  is  well 
called  "  the  newness,"  for  it  is  never  other ;  as  new  to  the 
oldest  intelligence  as  to  the  young  child,—"  the  kingdom  that 
cometh  without  observation."  In  like  manner,  for  practical 
success,  there  must  not  be  too  much  design.  A  man  will  not 
be  observed  in  doing  that  which  he  can  do  best.  There  is  a 
certain  magic  about  his  properest  action,  which  stupefies  your 
powers  of  observation,  so  that  though  it  is  done  before  you, 
you  wist  not  of  it.  The  art  of  life  has  a  pudency,  and  will 
not  be  exposed.  Every  man  is  an  impossibility,  until  he  ia 
born ;  every  thing  impossible,  until  we  see  a  success.  The 
ardors  of  piety  agree  at  last  with  the  coldest  skepticism, — 
that  nothing  is  of  us  or  our  works, — that  all  is  of  God.  Na- 
ture will  not  spare  us  the  smallest  leaf  of  laurel.  All  writing 
comes  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  all  doing  and  having.  I 
would  gladly  be  moral,  and  keep  due  metes  and  bounds, 
which  I  dearly  love,  and  allow  the  most  to  the  will  of  man, 
but  I  have  set  my  heart  on  honesty  in  this  chapter,  and  I  can 
see  nothing  at  last,  in  success  or  failure,  than  more  or  less  of 
vital  force  supplied  from  the  Eternal.  The  results  of  life  are 
uncalculated  and  uncalculable.  The  years  teach  much  which 
the  days  never  know.  The  persons  who  compose  our  com- 
pany, converse,  and  come  and  go,  and  design  and  execute 
many  things,  and  somewhat  comes  of  it  all,  but  an  unlocked 
for  result.  The  individual  is  always  mistaken.  He  designed 
many  things,  and  drew  in  other  persons  as  coadjutors,  quar- 
relled with  some  or  all,  blundered  much,  and  something  is 
done ;  all  are  a  little  advanced,  but  the  individual  is  always 
mistaken.  It  turns  out  somewhat  new,  and  very  unlike  what 
he  promised  himself. 

The  ancients,  struck  with  this  irreducibleness  of  the  ele- 
ments of  human  life  to  calculation,  exalted  Chance  into  a  di- 
vinity, but  that  is  to  stay  too  long  at  the  spark, — which  glit- 
ters truly  at  one  point, — but  the  universe  is  warm  with  the 
latency  of  the  same  fire.  The  miracle  of  life  which  will  not 
be  expounded,  but  will  remain  a  miracle,  introduces  a  new 
element.  In  the  growth  of  the  embryo,  Sir  Everard  Home,  I 
think,  noticed  that  the  evolution  was  not  from  one  central 
point,  but  co-active  from  three  or  more  points.  Life  has  no 


EXPERIENCE.  39 

memory.  That  which  proceeds  in  succession  might  be  remem. 
bered,  but  that  which  is  co-existent,  or  ejaculated  from  a 
deeper  cause,  as  yet  far  from  being  conscious,  knows  not  its 
own  tendency.  So  is  it  with  us,  now  skeptical,  or  without 
unity,  because  immersed  in  forms  and  effects  all  seeming  to 
be  of  equal  yet  hostile  value,  and  now  religious,  whilst  in  the 
reception  of  spiritual  law.  Bear  with  these  distractions,  with 
this  coetaneous  growth  of  the  parts :  they  will  one  c"...v  be 
members,  and  obey  one  will.  On  that  one  will,  on  that  secret 
cause,  they  nail  our  attention  and  hope.  Life  is  Lereby 
melted  into  an  expectation  or  a  religion.  Underneath  the  in- 
harmonious  and  trivial  particulars,  is  a  musical  perfection,  the 
Ideal  journeying  always  with  us,  the  heaven  without  rent  or 
seam.  Do  but  observe  the  mode  of  our  illumination.  When 
I  converse  with  a  profound  mind,  or  if  at  any  time  being 
alone  I  have  good  thoughts,  I  do  not  at  once  arrive  at  satis- 
factions, as  when,  being  thirsty,  I  drink  water,  or  go  to  the 
fire,  being  cold  :  no !  but  I  am  at  first  apprised  of  my  vicinity 
to  a  new  and  excellent  region  of  life.  By  persisting  to  read 
or  to  think,  this  region  gives  further  sign  of  itself,  as  it  were 
in  flashes  of  light,  in  sudden  discoveries  of  its  profound  beauty 
and  repose,  as  if  the  clouds  that  covered  it  parted  at  intervals, 
and  showed  the  approaching  traveller  the  inland  mountains, 
with  the  tranquil  eternal  meadows  spread  at  their  base, 
whereon  flocks  graze,  and  shepherds  pipe  and  dance.  But 
every  insight  from  this  realm  of  thought  is  felt  as  initial,  and 
promises  a  sequel.  I  do  not  make  it ;  I  arrive  there,  and  be- 
hold what  was  there  already.  I  make.!  0  no  I  I  clap  my 
hands  in  infantine  joy  and  amazement,  before  the  first  open- 
ing to  me  of  this  august  magnificence,  old  with  the  love  and 
homage  of  innumerable  ages,  young  with  the  life  of  life,  the 
sunbright  Mecca  of  the  desert.  And  what  a  future  it  opens  I 
I  feel  a  new  heart  beating  with  the  love  of  the  new  beauty.  T 
am  ready  to  die  out  of  nature,  and  be  born  again  Into  th. 
new  yet  unapproachable  America  I  have  found  in  the  .Yest 

"  Since  neither  now  nor  yesterday  began 
These  thoughts,  which  have  been  ever,  nor  yet  can 
A  man  be  found  who  their  first  entrance  knew." 

If  I  have  described  life  as  a  flux  of  moods,  I  must  now  add, 
that  there  is  that  in  us  which  changes  not,  and  which  ranks 
nil  sensations  and  states  of  mind.  The  consciousness  in  each 
man  is  a  sliding  scale,  which  identifies  him  now  with  the  First 
Cause,  and  now  with  the  flesh  of  his  body  ;  life  above  life,  in 
infinite  degrees.  The  sentiment  from  which  it  sprung  de- 


40  EMERSON1 8  ESSAYS. 

termines  the  dignity  of  any  deed,  and  the  question  ever  is, 
not,  what  you  have  done  or  forborne,  but,  at  whose  command 
you  have  done  or  forborne  it. 

Fortune,  Minerva,  Muse,  Holy  Ghost,— these  are  quaint 
names,  too  narrow  to  cover  this  unbounded  substance.  The 
baffled  intellect  must  still  kneel  before  this  cause,  which  re- 
fuses  to  be  named,— ineffable  cause,  which  every  fine  genius 
iias  essayed  to  represent  by  some  emphatic  symbol,  as,  Thales 
uy  water,  Anaximenes  by  air,  Anaxagoras  by  (Nou<?)  thought, 
Zoroaster  by  fire,  Jesus  and  the  moderns  by  love  :  and  the 
metaphor  of  each  has  become  a  national  religion.  The  Chinese 
Mencius  has  not  been  the  least  successful  in  his  generaliza- 
tion. "  I  fully  understand  language,"  he  said,  "  and  nourish 
well  my  vast-flowing  vigor." — "  I  beg  to  ask  what  you  call 
vast-flowing  vigor?" — said  his  companion.  "The  explana- 
tion," replied  Mencius,  u  is  difficult.  This  vigor  is  supremely 
great,  and  in  the  highest  degree  unbending.  Nourish  it  cor- 
rectly, and  do  it  no  injury,  and  it  will  fill  up  the  vacancy  be- 
tween heaven  and  earth.  This  vigor  accords  with  and  assists 
justice  and  reason,  and  leaves  no  hunger." — In  our  more  cor- 
rect writing,  we  give  to  this  generalization  the  name  of  Being, 
and  thereby  confess  that  we  have  arrived  as  far  as  we  can  go. 
Suffice  it  for  the  joy  of  the  universe,  that  we  have  not  arrived 
at  a  wall,  but  at  interminable  oceans.  Our  life  seems  not 
present,  so  much  as  prospective ;  not  for  the  affairs  on  which 
it  is  wasted,  but  as  a  hint  of  this  vast-flowing  vigor.  Most 
of  life  seems  to  be  mere  advertisement  of  faculty  :  informa- 
tion is  given  us  not  to  sell  ourselves  cheap  ;  that  we  are  very 
great.  So,  in  particulars,  our  greatness  is  always  in  a  ten- 
dency or  direction,  not  in  an  action.  It  is  for  us  to  believe  in 
the  rule  not  in  the  exception.  The  noble  are  thus  known 
from  the  ignoble.  So  in  accepting  the  leading  of  the  senti- 
ments . '-  is  not  what  we  believe  concerning  the  immortality 
of  the  scul,  or  the  like,  but  the  universal  impulse  to  believe , 
that  is  tbe  material  circumstance,  and  is  the  principal  fact  in 
the  history  of  the  globe.  Shall  we  describe  this  cause  as  that 
which  works  directly  ?  The  spirit  is  not  helpless  or  needful 
of  mediate  organs.  It  has  plentiful  powers  and  direct  effects. 
I  am  explained  without  explaining,  I  am  felt  without  acting, 
and  where  I  am  not.  Therefore  all  just  persons  are  satisfied 
with  their  own  praise.  They  refuse  to  explain  themselves, 
and  are  content  that  new  actions  should  do  them  that  office. 
They  believe  that  we  communicate  without  speech,  and  above 
speech,  and  that  no  right  action  of  ours  is  quite  unaffecting 
to  our  friends,  at  whatever  distance ;  for  the  influence  of  action 


EXPERIENCE.  « 

B  not  to  oe  measured  by  miles.  Why  should  1  tret  myself. 
Because  a  circumstance  has  occurred,  which  hinders  my  pres- 
ence where  I  was  expected  ?  If  I  am  not  at  the  meeting,  my 
presence  where  1  am,  should  be  as  useful  to  the  common- 
wealth  of  friendship  and  wisdom,  as  would  be  my  presence  in 
that  place,  I  exert  the  same  quality  of  power  in  all  places 
Thus  journeys  the  mighty  Ideal  before  us;  it  never  was 
known  to  fall  into  the  rear.  No  man  ever  came  to  an  expcr 
ence  which  was  satiating,  but  his  good  is  tidings  of  a  betu  . 
Onward  and  onward  I  In  liberated  moments,  we  know  Hint  a 
new  picture  of  life  and  duty  is  already  possible  :  the  elements 
already  exist  in  many  minds  around  you,  of  a  doctrine  of  iifa 
which  shalJ  transcend  any  written  record  we  have.  The  new 
statement  wiil  comprise  the  skepticisms,  as  well  as  the  faiths 
of  a  society,  and  out  of  unbeliefs  a  creed  shall  be  formed. 
For,  skepticisms  are  not  gratuitous  or  lawless,  but  are  limita- 
tions of  the  affirmative  statement,  and  the  new  philosophy 
must  take  them  in,  and  make  affirmations  outside  of  them, 
just  as  much  as  it  must  include  the  oldest  beliefs. 

It  is  very  unhappy,  but  too  late  to  be  helped,  the  discovery 
we  have  made,  that  we  exist.  That  discovery  is.  called  the  Fall 
of  Man.  Ever  afterwards,  we  suspect  our  instruments.  We 
have  learned  that  we  do  not  see  directly,  but  mediately,  and 
that  we  have  no  means  of  correcting  these  colored  and  distort- 
ing lenses  which  we  are,  or  computing  the  amount  of  their 
errors.  Perhaps  these  subject-lenses  l\Mre  a  creative  power ; 
perhaps  there  are  no  objects.  Once  we  Jived  in  what  we  saw ; 
now,  the  rapaciousness  of  this  new  power,  which  threatens  to 
absorb  all  things,  engages  us.  Nature,  art,  persons,  letters, 
religions, — objects,  successively  tumble  in,  and  God  is  but  one 
of  its  ideas.  Nature  and  literature  are  subjective  phenomena  ; 
every  evil  and  every  good  thing  is  a  shadow  which  we  cast. 
The  street  is  full  of  humiliations  to  the  prom.!.  As  the  fop 
contrived  to  dress  his  bailitis  in  his  livery,  and  mak 
wait  on  his  guests  at  table,  so  the  chagrins  which  the  bad 
heart  gives  off  as  bubbles,  at  once  take  form  as  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  the  street,  shopmen  or  barkeepers  in  hotels,  and 
threaten  or  insult  whatever  is  threatenable  and  insultable  in 
us.  'Tis  the  same  with  our  idolatries.  People  forget  that  it 
is  the  eye  which  makes  the  horizon,  and  the  rounding  mind's 
eye  which  makes  this  or  that  man  a  type  or  representative  of 
humanity  with  the  name  of  hero  or  paint.  Jesus  the  "  provi- 
dential man,"  is  a  good  man  on  whom  many  people  are  agreed 
that  these  optical  laws  sh»'*j  **.k<?  eilect.  By  love  on  one  part, 


42  EMERSON1 8  ESSAtt, 

and  by  forbearance  to  press  objection  on  the  other  part,  it  ia 
for  a  time  settled,  that  we  will  look  at  him  in  the  centre  of 
the  horizon,  a.nd  ascribe  to  him  the  properties  that  will  attach 
to  any  man  so  seen.  But  the  longest  love  or  aversion  has  a 
speedy  term.  The  great  and  crescive  self,  rooted  in  absolute 
nature,  supplants  all  relative  existence,  and  ruins  the  kingdom 
of  mortal  friendship  and  love.  Marriage  (in  what  is  called  the 
spiritual  world)  is  impossible,  because  of  the  inequality  be- 
tween every  subject  and  every  object.  The  subject  is  the  re- 
ceiver 01'  Godhead,  and  at  every  comparison  must  feel  his  being 
enhanced  by  that  cryptic  might.  Though  not  in  energy,  yet 
by  presence,  this  magazine  of  substance  cannot  be  otherwise 
than  felt :  nor  can  any  force  of  intellect  attribute  to  the  object 
the  proper  deity  which  sleeps  or  wakes  forever  in  every  subject. 
Never  can  love  j»*ke  consciousness  and  ascription  equal  in 
force.  There  will  be  the  same  ojulf  between  every  me  and  thee, 
as  between  the  original  and  the  picture.  The  universe  is  the 
bride  of  the  soul.  All  private  sympathy  is  partial.  Two 
human  beings  are  like  globes,  which  can  touch  only  in  a  point, 
and,  whilst  they  remain  in  contact,  all  other  points  of  each  of 
the  spheres  are  inert ;  their  turn  must  also  come,  and  the  longer 
a  particular  union  lasts,  the  more  energy  of  appetency  the 
parts  not  in  union  acquire. 

Life  will  be  imaged,  but  cannot  be  divided  nor  doubled. 
Any  invasion  of  its  unit}7  would  be  chaos.  The  soul  is  not 
twin-born,  but  the  only  begotten,  and  though  revealing  itself 
as  child  in  time,  child  in  appearance,  is  of  a  fatal  and  universal 
power,  admitting  no  co-life.  Every  day,  every  act  betrays  the 
ill-concealed  deity.  We  believe  in  ourselves,  as  we  do  not  be- 
lieve in  others.  We  permit  all  things  to  ourselves,  and  that 
which  we  call  sin  in  others,  is  experiment  for  us.  It  is  an  in- 
stance of  our  faith  in  ourselves,  that  men  never  speak  of  crime 
as  lightly  as  they  think  :  or,  every  man  thinks  a  latitude  safe 
for  himself,  which  is  nowise  to  be  indulged  to  another.  The  act 
looks  very  differently  on  the  inside,  and  on  the  outside  ;  in 
its  quality,  and  in  its  consequences.  Murder  in  the  murderer 
is  no  such  ruinous  thought  as  poets  and  romancers  will  have  it; 
it  does  not  unsettle  him,  or  fright  him  from  his  ordinary  notice 
of  trifles :  it  is  an  act  quite  easy  to  be  contemplated,  but  in  its 
sequel,  it  turns  out  to  be  a  horrible  jangle  and  confounding  of 
all  relations.  Especially  the  crimes  that  spring  from  love 
seem  right  and  fair  from  the  actor's  point  of  view,  but,  when 
acted,  are  found  destructive  of  society.  No  man  at  last  be- 
lieves  that  he  can  be  lost,  nor  that  the  crime  in  him  is  as  black 
as  in  the  felon.  Because  the  intellect  qualifies  in  our  own  case 


EXPERIENCE.  43 

Vhe  moral  judgments.  For  there  is  no  crime  to  the  intellect 
lhat  is  antmomian  or  hypernomian,  and  judges  law  as  well  as 
met.  "  It  is  worse  than  a  crime,  it  is  a  blunder,"  said  Napo- 
leon, speaking  the  language  of  the  intellect.  To  it,  the  world 
is  a  problem  in  mathematics  or  the  science  of  quantity,  and  it 
leaves  our  praise  and  blame,  and  all  weak  emotions.  All  steal- 
ing is  comparative.  If  you  come  to  absolutes,  pray  who  does 
not  steal  ?  Saints  are  sad,  because  they  behold  sin,  (even  when 
they  speculate,)  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  conscience,  am 
not  of  the  intellect ;  a  confusion  of  thought.  Sin  seen  from 
the  thought,  is  a  diminution  or  less:  seen  from  the  conscience 
or  will,  it  is  pravity  or  bad.  The  intellect  names  it  shade, 
absence  of  light,  and  no  essence.  The  conscience  must  feel  it 
as  essence,  essential  evil.  This  it  is  not :  it  has  an  objective 
existence,  but  no  subjective. 

Thus  inevitably  does  the  universe  wear  our  color,  and  every 
object  fall  successively  into  the  subject  itself.  The  subject 
exists,  the  subject  enlarges  ;  all  things  sooner  or  later  fall  into 
place.  As  I  am,  so  I  see  ;  use  what  language  we  will,  we  can 
never  say  anything  but  what  we  are;  Hermes,  Cadmus, 
Columbus,  Newton,  Bonaparte,  are  the  mind's  ministers. 
Instead  of  feeling  a  poverty  when  we  encounter  a  great  man, 
let  us  treat  the  new  comer  like  a  travelling  geologist,  who 
passes  through  our  estate,  and  shows  us  good  slate,  or  lime- 
stone, or  anthracite,  in  our  brush  pasture.  The  partial  action 
of  each  strong  mind  in  one  direction,  is  a  telescope  for  the 
objects  on  which  it  is  pointed.  But  every  other  part  of  knowl- 
edge is  to  be  pushed  to  the  same  extravagance,  ere  the  soul 
attains  her  due  sphericity.  Do  you  see  that  kitten  chasing 
so  prettily  her  own  tail  ?  If  you  could  look  with  her  eyes,  vou 
might  see  her  surrounded  with  hundreds  of  figures  performing 
complex  dramas,  with  tragic  and  comic  issues,  long  conversa- 
tions, many  characters,  many  ups  and  downs  of  fate; — and 
meantime  it  is  only  puss  and  her  tail.  How  long  before  our 
masquerade  will  end  its  noise  of  tambourines,  laughter,  and 
shouting,  and  we  shall  find  it  was  a  solitary  performance  ? — A 
subject  and  an  object, — it  takes  so  much  to  make  the  galvanic 
circuit  complete,  but  magnitude  adds  nothing.  What  imports 
it  whether  it  is  Kepler  and  the  sphere  ;  Columbus  and  America  j 
a  reader  and  his  book ;  01  puss  with  her  tail  ? 

It  is  true  that  all  the  muses  and  love  and  religion  hate  these 
developments,  and  will  find  a  way  to  punish  the  chemist,  who 
publishes  in  the  parlor  the  secrets  of  the  labratory.  And  we 
cannot  say  too  little  of  our  constitutional  necessity  of  seeing 
things  under  private  aspects,  or  saturated  with  our  humow, 


41  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

A.nd  yet  is  the  God  the  native  of  these  bleak  rocks.  That 
need  makes  in  morals  the  capital  virtue  of  se'"-trust.  We 
must  eld  Lard  to  this  poverty,  however  scandalous,  and  by 
more  vigorous  self-recoveries,  after  the  sallies  of  action,  possess 
our  axis  more  firmly.  The  life  of  truth  is  cold,  and  so  far 
mournful ;  but  it  is  not  the  slave  of  tears,  contritions,  and 
perturbations.  It  does  net  attempt  another's  work,  nor  adopt 
another's  facts.  It  is  a  main  lesson  of  \;  jsdom  to  know  your 
(  own  from  another's.  I  have  learned  that  I  cannot  dispose  of 
'  other  people's  facts  ;  but  I  possess  such  a  key  to  my  own,  as 
persuades  me  against  all  their  denials,  that  they  also  have  a 
key  to  theirs.  A  sympathetic  person  is  placed  in  the  dilemma 
of  a  swimmer  among  drowning  men,  who  all  catch  at  him,  and 
if  he  give  so  much  as.  a  leg  or  a  Jnger,  they  will  drown  him. 
They  wish  to  be  aved  from  the  mischiefs  of  their  vices,  but 
not  from  their  vices.  Charity  would  be  wasted  on  this  poor 
waiting  on  the  symptoms.  A  wise  and  hardy  physician  will 
gay,  Come  out  of  that,  as  the  first  condition  of  advice. 

In  this  our  talking  America,  we  are  ruined  by  our  good  na- 
ture and  listening  on  all  sides.  This  compliance  takes  away 
the  power  of  being  greatly  useful.  A  man  should  not  be  able 
to  look  other  than  directly  and  forthright.  A  preoccupied  at- 
tention is  the  only  answer  to  the  importunate  frivolity  of  otbei: 
people  :  an  attention,  and  to  an  aim  which  makes  their  wants 
frivolous.  This  is  a  divine  answer,  and  leaves  no  appeal,  and 
no  hard  thoughts.  In  Flaxman's  drawing  of  the  Eumenides 
of  ./Eschylus,  Orestes  supplicates  Apollo,  whilst  the  Furies 
sleep  on  the  threshold.  The  face  of  the  god  expresses  a  shade 
of  regret  and  compassion,  but  calm  with  the  conviction  of  the 
irreconcilableness  of  the  two  spheres.  He  is  born  into  other 
politics,  into  the  eternal  and  beautiful.  The  man  at  his  feet 
asks  lor  his  interest  in  turmoils  of  the  earth,  into  which  his 
nature  cannot  enter.  And  the  Eumenides  there  lying  express 
pictorially  this  disparity.  The  god  is  surcharged  with  his  di- 
Yine  destiny. 

Illusion,  Temperament,  Succession,  Surface,  Surprise,  Real- 
ity,  Subjectiveness, — these  are  threads  on  the  loom  of  time, 
these  are  the  lords  of  life.  I  dare  not  assume  to  give  their 
order,  but  I  name  them  as  I  find  them  in  my  way.  I  know 
better  than  to  claim  any  completeness  for  my  picture.  I  am  a 
fragment,  and  this  is  a  fragment  of  me.  I  can  very  confidently 
announce  one  or  another  law,  which  throws  itself  into  relief 
and  form,  but  I  am  too  young  yet  by  some  ages  to  compile  a 
code.  I  gossip  for  my  hour  concerning  the  eternal  politics.  I 


EXPERIENCE.  45 

have  seen  many  fair  pictures  not  in  vain.  A  wonderful  time 
I  have  lived  in.  I  am  not  the  novice  I  was  fourteen,  nor  yet 
seven  years  ago.  Let  who  will  ask,  where  is  the  fruit  ?  I  fin  1 
a  private  fruit  sufficient.  This  is  a  fruit,— that  I  should  no', 
ask  for  a  rash  effect  from  meditations,  counsels,  and  the  hiv- 
ing of  truths.  I  should  feel  it  pitiful  to  demand  a  result  on 
this  town  and  county,  an  overt  effect  on  the  instant  month  and 
yes  •:.  The  effect  is  deep  and  secular  as  the  cause.  It  works 
on  periods  in  which  mortal  lifetime  is  lost.  All  I  know  is  re- 
ception ;  I  am  and  I  have  :  but  I  do  not  get,  and  when  I  hav€ 
fancied  I  had  gotten  anything,  I  found  1  did  not.  I  worship 
with  wonder  the  great  Fortune.  My  reception  has  been  so 
large,  that  I  am  not  annoyed  by  receiving  this  or  that  supera- 
bundantly. I  say  to  the  Genius,  if  he  will  pardon  the  proverb, 
In  for  a  mill,  in  for  a  million.  When  I  receive  a  new  gift,  I 
do  not  macerate  my  body  to  make  the  account  square,  for,  if  I 
should  die,  I  could  not  make  the  account  square.  The  benefit 
overran  the  merit  the  first  day,  and  has  overran  the  merit  ever 
since.  The  merit  itself,  so-called,  I  reckon  part  of  the  receiv- 
ing. 

Also,  that  hankering  after  an  overt  or  practical  effect  seeme 
to  me  an  apostasy.  In  good  earnest,  I  am  willing  to  spare 
this  most  unnecessary  deal  of  doing.  Life  wears  to  me  a  vis- 
ionary face.  Hardest,  roughest  action  is  visionary  also.  It  ia 
but  a  choice  between  soft  and  turbulent  dreams.  People  dis- 
parage knowing  and  the  intellectual  life,  and  urge  doing.  I 
am  very  content  with  knowing,  if  only  I  could  know.  That  is 
an  august  entertainment,  and  would  suffice  me  a  great  while. 
To  know  a  little,  would  be  worth  the  expense  of  this  world.  I 
hear  always  the  law  of  Adrastia,  "  that  eveiy  soul  which  had 
acquired  any  truth,  should  be  safe  from  harm  until  another 
period." 

I  know  that  the  world  I  converse  with  in  the  city  and  in  the 
/arms,  is  not  the  world  I  think.  I  observe  that  difference,  and 
shall  observe  it.  One  day,  I  shall  know  the  value  and  law  of 
this  discrepance.  But  I  have  not  found  that  much  was  gained 
by  manipnlar  attempts  to  realize  the  world  of  thought.  Many 
eager  persons  successively  make  an  experiment  in  this  way, 
and  make  themselves  ridiculous.  They  acquire  democratic 
manners,  they  foam  at  the  mouth,  they  hate  and  deny.  Worse, 
I  observe,  that,  in  the  history  of  mankind,  then- 
solitary  example  of  success, — taking  their  own  tests  of  suocesa 
"  say  this  polemically,  or  in  reply  to  the  inquiry,  why  net 
realize  your  world?  But  far  be  from  me  the  despair  whiok 
prejudges  the  law  by  a  paltry  empiricism, — since  there  never 


46  aaaawrs  ESSAYS. 

was  a  right  endeavor,  but  it  succeeded.  Patience  and  patience, 
we  shall  win  at  the  last.  We  must  be  very  suspicious  of  the 
deceptions  of  the  element  of  time.  It  takes  a  good  deal  of 
time  to  eat  or  to  sleep,  or  to  earn  a  hundred  dollars,  and  a 
very  little  time  to  entertain  a  hope  and  an  insight  which  be- 
comes the  light  of  our  life.  We  dress  our  garden,  eat  our 
dinners,  discuss  the  household  with  our  wives,  and  these  things 
make  no  impression,  are  forgotten  next  week ;  but  in  the  soli- 
tude to  which  every  man  is  always  returning,  he  b;i ;  -i  sanity 
and  revelations,  which  in  his  passage  into  new  worlds  he  will 
carry  with  him.  Never  mind  the  riditule,  never  mind  the  de- 
feat :  up  again,  old  heart ! — it  seems  to  say, — there  is  a  victory 
yet  for  all  justice ;  and  the  true  romance  which  the  world 
exists  to  realize,  will  be  the  transformation  of  genius  inta 
practical  power. 


CHARACTER. 


The  sun  set ;  but  set  not  his  hop*: 
Stars  rose;  his  faith  was  earlier  up: 
Fixed  on  the  enormous  galaxy, 
Deeper  and  older  seemed  his  eye: 
And  matched  his  sufferance  sublime 
The  taciturnity  of  time. 
He  spoke,  and  words  more  soft  than  rain 
Brought  the  Age  of  Gold  again  : 
His  action  won  such  reverence  sweet, 
As  hid  all  measure  of  the  feU. 


Work  of  his  hand 

Se  nor  commends  nor  gnSVK: •., 
Pleads  for  itself  the  fact ; 
As  unrepenting  Nature  1MMP6S 
Her  every  act. 


ESSAY  IH. 
CHARACTER. 


1  HAVE  read  that  those  who  listened  to  Lord  Chatham  fa. 
that  there  was  something  finer  in  the  man,  than  anything 
which  he  said.  It  has  been  complained  of  our  brilliant  Eng- 
lish historian  of  the  French  Revolution,  that  when  he  has 
told  all  his  facts  about  Mirabeau,  they  do  not  justify  his 
estimate  of  his  genius.  The  Gracchi,  Agis,  Cleomenes,  and 
others  of  Plutarch's  heroes,  do  not  in  the  record  of  facts  equal 
their  own  fame.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  are  men  of  great  figure,  and  of  few  deeds. 
We  cannot  find  the  smallest  part  of  the  personal  weight  of 
Washington,  in  the  narrative  of  his  exploits.  The  authority 
of  the  name  of  Schiller  is  too  great  for  his  books.  This  in- 
equality of  the  reputation  to  the  works  or  the  anecdotes,  is 
flot  accounted  for  by  saying  that  the  reverberation  is  longer 
lihan  the  thunder-clap ;  but  somewhat  resided  in  these  men 
which  begot  an  expectation  that  outran  all  their  performance. 
The  largest  part  of  their  power  was  latent.  This  is  that  which 
we  call  Character, — a  reserved  force  which  acts  directly  by 
presence,  and  without  means.  It  is  conceived  of  as  a  cer- 
tain undemonstrable  force,  a  Familiar  or  Genius,  by  whose  im- 
pulses the  man  is  guided,  but  whose  counsels  he  cannot  im- 
part; which  is  company  for  him,  so  that  such  men  are  often 
solitary,  or  if  they  chance  to  be  social,  do  not  need  society, 
but  can  entertain  themselves  very  well  alone.  The  purest 
literary  talent  appears  at  one  time  great,  at  another  time 
small,  but  character  is  of  a  stellar  and  umliminishable  great- 
ness. What  others  effect  by  talent  or  by  eloquence,  this  man 
accomplishes  by  some  magnetism.  "  Half  his  strength  he  put 
not  forth."  His  victories  are  by  demonstration  of  superiority, 
and  not  by  crossing  of  bayonets.  He  conquers,  because  his 
arrival  alters  the  face  of  affairs.  "  0  lole !  how  did  you 
know  that  Hercules  was  a  god  ?  "  "  Because,"  answered  lole, 
'*  I  was  content  the  moment  my  eyes  fell  on  him.  When  1  be- 
held Theseus,  I  desired  that  I  might  see  him  offer  battle,  or  at 
least  guide  his  horses  in  the  cha riot-race  j  but  Hercules  did 
'  4  «*> 


80  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

not  wait  for  a  contest ;  he  conquered  whether  he  stood,  or  walked, 
or  sat,  or  whatever  thing  he  did."  Man, ordinarily  a  pendant  to 
events,  only  half  attached,  and  chat  awkwardly,  to  the  world 
he  lives  in,  in  these  examples  appears  to  share  the  life  of 
things,  and  to  be  an  expression  of  the  same  laws  which  con- 
trol the  tides  and  the  sun,  numbers  and  quantities. 

Bi:<  to  use  a  more  modest  illustration,  and  nearer  home,  I 
observe,  that  in  our  political  elections,  where  this  element,  if 
it  appears  at  all,  can  only  occur  in  its  coarsest  form,  we  suf- 
ficiently understand  its  incomparable  rate.  The  people  know 
that  they  need  in  their  representative  much  more  than  talent, 
namely,  the  power  to  make  his  talent  trusted.  They  cannot 
come  at  their  ends  by  sending  to  Congress  a  learned,  acute, 
and  fluent  speaker,  if  he  be  not  one,  who,  before  he  was  ap- 
pointed by  the  people  to  represent  them,  was  appointed  by  Al- 
mighty God  to  stand  for  a  fact, — invincibly  persuaded  of  that 
fact  in  himself, — so  that  the  most  confident  and  the  most 
violent  persons  learn  that  here  is  resistance  on  which  both  im- 
pudence and  terror  are  wasted,  namely,  faith  in  a  fact.  The 
men  who  carry  their  points  do  not  need  to  inquire  of  their  con- 
stituents what  they  should  say,  but  are  themselves  the  country 
which  they  represent :  nowhere  are  its  emotions  or  opinions  so 
instant  and  true  as  in  them ;  nowhere  so  pure  from  a  selfish 
infusion.  The  constituency  at  home  hearkens  to  their  words, 
watches  the  color  of  their  cheek,  and  therein,  as  in  a  glass, 
dresses  its  own.  Our  public  assemblies  are  pretty  good  tests 
of  manly  force.  Our  frank  countrymen  of  the  west  and  south 
have  a  taste  for  character,  and  like  to  know  whether  the 
New  Englander  is  a  substantial  man,  or  whether  the  hand 
can  pass  through  him. 

The  same  motive  force  appears  in  trade.  There  are 
geniuses  in  trade,  as  well  as  in  war,  or  the  state,  or  letters; 
and  the  reason  why  this  or  that  man  is  fortunate,  is  not  to  be 
told.  It  lies  in  the  man :  that  is  all  anybody  can  tell  you 
about  it.  See  him,  and  you  will  know  as  easily  why  he  suc- 
ceeds, as,  if  you  see  Napoleon,  you  would  comprehend  his  for- 
tune. In  the  new  objects  we  recognize  the  old  game,  the  habit 
of  fronting  the  fact,  and  not  dealing  with  it  at  second  hand, 
through  the  perceptions  of  somebody  else.  Nature  seems  to 
authorize  trade,  as  soon  as  you  see  the  natural  merchant,  who 
appears  not  so  much  a  private  agent,  as  her  factor  and  Minis- 
ter of  Commerce.  His  natural  probity  combines  with  his  in- 
sight into  the  fabric  of  society,  to  put  him  above  tricks,  and 
lie  communicates  to  all  his  own  faith,  that  contracts  are  of  no 
private  interpretation.  The  habit  of  his  mind  is  a  reference  to 


CHARACTER.  si 

standards  of  natural  equity  and  public  advantage  ;  and  he  in- 
spires  respect,  and  the  wish  to  deal  with  him,  both  for  the  quiet 
spirit  of  honor  which  attends  him,  and  for  the  intellectual 
pastime  which  the  spectacle  of  so  much  ability  affords.  This 
immensely  stretched  trade,  which  makes  the  capes  of  the 
Southern  Ocean  his  wharves,  and  the  Atlantic  Sea  his  familiar 
port,  centres  in  his  brain  only ;  and  nobody  in  the  universe 
can  make  his  place  good.  In  his  parlor,  I  see  very  well  that 
he  has  been  at  hard  work  this  morning,  with  that  knitted  brow, 
and  that  settled  humor  which  all  his  desire  to  be  courteous 
cannot  shake  off.  I  see  plainly  how  many  firm  acts  have  been 
done  ;  how  many  valiant  noes  have  this  day  been  spoken,  when 
others  would  have  uttered  ruinous  yeas.  I  see,  with  the  pride 
of  art,  and  skill  of  masterly  arithmetic  and  power  of  remote 
combination,  the  consciousness  of  being  an  agent  and  playfel- 
low of  the  original  laws  of  the  world.  He  too  believes  that 
none  can  supply  him,  and  that  a  man  must  be  born  to  trade,  or 
he  cannot  learn  it. 

This  virtue  draws  the  mind  more,  when  it  appears  in  action 
to  ends  not  so  mixed.  It  works  with  most  energy  in  the 
smallest  companies  and  in  private  relations.  In  all  cases,  it 
is  an  extraordinary  and  incomputable  agent.  The  excess  of 
physical  strength  is  paralyzed  by  it.  Higher  natures  over- 
power lower  ones  by  affecting  them  with  a  certain  sleep.  The 
faculties  are  locked  up,  and  offer  no  resistance.  Perhaps  that 
is  the  universal  law.  When  the  high  cannot  bring  up  the  low 
to  itself,  it  benumbs  it,  as  man  charms  down  the  resistance  of 
the  lower  animals.  Men  exert  on  each  other  a  similar  occult 
power.  How  often  has  the  influence  of  a  true  master  realized 
all  the  tales  of  magic  I  A  river  of  command  seemed  to  run 
down  from  his  eyes  into  all  those  who  beheld  him, a  torrent  of 
strong  sad  light,  like  an  Ohio  or  Danube,  which  pervaded 
them  with  his  thoughts,  and  colored  all  events  with  tLt  hue 
of  his  mind.  "  What  means  did  you  employ  ?  "  was  the  quee- 
tion  asked  of  the  wife  of  Concini,  in  regard  to  her  treatment 
of  Mary  of  Medici ;  and  the  answer  was,  "  Only  that  influence 
which  every  strong  mind  has  over  a  weak  one."  Cannot 
Caesar  in  irons  shuffle  off  the  irons,  and  transfer  them  to  the 
person  of  Hippo  or  Thraso  the  turnkey  ?  Is  an  iron  handcuff 
so  immutable  a  bond  ?  Suppose  a  slaver  on  the  coast  of 
Guinea  should  take  on  board  a  gang  of  negroes,  which  should 
contain  persons  of  the  stamp  of  Toussaint  L'Ouverture  :  or, 
let  us  fancy,  under  these  swarthy  masks  he  has  a  gang  of 
Washingtons  in  chains.  When  they  arrive  at  Cuba,  will  the 
relative  order  of  the  ship's  company  be  the  same  ?  Is  thert 


53  EMERSON1  S  ESSAYS. 

nothing  but  rope  and  iron  ?  Is  there  no  love,  no  reverence  ? 
Is  there  never  a  glimpse  of  right  in  a  poor  slave-captain's 
mind ;  and  cannot  these  be  supposed  available  to  break,  or 
elude,  or  in  any  manner  overmatch  the  tension  of  an  inch  or 
two  of  iron  ring  ? 

This  is  a  natural  power,  like  light  and  heat,  and  all  nature 
co-operates  with  it.  The  reason  why  we  feel  one  man's  pres- 
ence, and  do  not  feel  another's,  is  as  simple  as  gravity.  Truth 
is  the  summit  of  being  :  justice  is  the  application  of  it  to 
affairs.  All  individual  natures  stand  in  a  scale,  according  to 
the  purity  of  this  element  in  them.  The  will  of  the  pure  runs 
down  from  them  into  other  natures,  as  water  runs  down  from 
a  higher  into  a  lower  vessel.  This  natural  force  is  no  naore  to 
be  withstood,  than  any  other  natural  force.  We  can  drive  a 
stone  upward  for  a  moment  into  the  air,  but  it  is  yet  true  that 
all  stones  will  forever  fall ;  and  whatever  instances  can  be 
quoted  of  unpunished  theft,  or  of  a  lie  which  somebody  cred- 
ited, justice  must  prevail,  and  it  is  the  privilege  of  truth  to 
make  itself  believed.  Character  is  this  moral  order  seen 
through  the  medium  of  an  individual  nature.  An  individual 
is  an  encloser.  Time  and  space,  liberty  and  necessity,  truth 
and  thought,  are  left  at  large  no  longer.  Now,  the  universe  is 
a  close  or  pound.  All  things  exist  in  the  man  tinged  with  the 
manners  of  his  soul.  With  what  quality  is  in  him,  he  infuses 
all  nature  that  he  can  reach ;  nor  does  he  tend  to  lose  himself 
in  vastness,  but,  at  how  long  a  curve  soever,  all  his  regards  re- 
turn into  his  own  good  at  last.  He  animates  all  he  can,  and 
he  sees  only  what  he  animates.  He  encloses  the  world,  as  the 
patriot  does  his  country,  as  a  material  basis  for  his  character, 
and  a  theatre  for  action.  A  healthy  soul  stands  united  with 
the  Just  and  the  True,  as  the  magnet  arranges  itself  with  the 
pcle,  so  that  he  stands  to  all  beholders  like  a  transparent  ob- 
ject betwixt  them  and  the  sun,  and  whoso  journeys  towards 
the  sun,  journeys  towards  that  person.  He  is  thus  the  medium 
of  the  highest  influence  to  all  who  are  not  on  the  same  level. 
Thus,  men  of  character  are  the  conscience  of  the  society  to 
which  they  belong. 

The  natural  measure  of  this  power  is  the  resistance  of  cir- 
cumstances. Impure  men  consider  life  as  it  is  reflected  in 
opinions,  events,  and  persons.  They  cannot  see  the  action, 
until  it  is  done.  Yet  its  moral  element  pre-existed  in  the 
actor,  and  its  quality  as  right  or  wrong,  it  was  eas3r  to  pre- 
dict. Everything  in  nature  is  bipolar,  or  has  a  positive  and 
negative  pole.  There  is  a  male  and  a  female,  a  spirit  and  a 
feet,  a  north  and  a  south.  Spirit  is  the  positive,  the  event  4 


CHARACTER.  53 

the  negative.  Will  is  the  north,  action  the  south  pole.  Char- 
acter may  be  ranked  as  having  its  natural  place  in  the  north. 
It  shares  the  magnetic  currents  of  the  system.  The  feeble 
souls  are  drawn  to  the  south  or  negative  pole.  They  look  at 
the  profit  or  hurt  of  the  action.  They  never  behold  a  principle 
until  it  is  lodged  in  a  person.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  lovely 
but  to  be  loved.  The  class  of  character  like  to  hear  of  their 
faults  ;  the  other  class  do  not  like  to  hear  of  faults ;  they  wor- 
ship events ;  secure  to  them  a  fact,  a  connection,  a  certain 
chain  of  circumstances,  and  they  will  ask  no  more.  The  hero 
Bees  that  the  event  is  ancillary  :  it  must  follow  him.  A  given 
order  of  events  has  no  power  to  secure  to  him  the  satisfaction 
which  the  imagination  attaches  to  it ;  the  soul  of  goodness  es- 
capes from  any  set  of  circumstances,  whilst  prosperity  belongs 
to  a  certain  mind,  and  will  introduce  that  power  and  victory 
which  is  its  natural  fruit,  into  any  order  of  events.  No 
change  of  circumstances  can  repair  a  defect  of  character.  We 
boast  our  emancipation  from  many  superstitions ;  but  if  we 
have  broken  any  idols,  it  is  through  a  transfer  of  the  idolatry. 
What  have  I  gained,  that  I  no  longer  immolate  a  bull  to  Jove, 
or  to  Neptune,  or  a  mouse  to  Hecate ;  that  I  do  not  tremble 
before  the  Eumenides,  or  the  Catholic  Purgatory,  or  the  Cai- 
vinistic  Judgment-day, — if  I  quake  at  opinion,  the  public 
opinion,  as  we  call  it ;  or  at  the  threat  of  assault,  or  con- 
tumely,  or  bad  neighbors,  or  povertj',  or  mutilation,  or  at  the 
rumor  of  revolution,  or  of  murder  ?  If  I  quake,  what  matters 
it  what  I  quake  at  ?  Our  proper  vice  takes  form  in  one  or  an- 
other shape,  according  to  the  sex,  age,  or  temperament  of  the 
person,  and,  if  we  are  capable  of  fear,  will  readily  find  terrors. 
The  covetousness  or  the  malignity  which  saddens  me,  when  I 
ascribe  it  to  society,  is  my  own.  I  am  always  environed  by 
myself.  On  the  other  part,  rectitude  is  a  perpetual  victory, 
celebrated  not  by  cries  of  joy,  but  by  serenity,  which  is  joy 
fixed  or  habitual.  It  is  disgraceful  to  fly  to  events  for  confb> 
mation  of  our  truth  and  worth.  The  capitalist  does  not  run 
every  hour  to  the  broker,  to  coin  his  advantages  into  current 
money  of  the  realm  ;  he  is  satisfied  to  read  in  the  quotations 
of  the  market,  that  his  stocks  have  risen.  The  same  transport 
which  the  occurrence  of  the  best  events  in  the  best  order 
would  occasion  me,  I  must  learn  to  taste  purer  in  the  percep- 
tion that  my  position  is  every  hour  meliorated,  and  does  al- 
ready command  those  events  I  desire.  That  exultation  is  only 
to  be  checked  by  the  foresight  of  an  order  of  things  so  excel- 
lent, as  to  throw  all  our  prosperities  into  the  deepest  shade. 
The  face  which  character  wears  to  me  is  self-sullicingneai. 


54  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

I  revere  the  person  who  is  riches ;  so  that  I  cannot  think  ot 
him  as  alone,  or  poor,  or  exiled,  or  unhappy,  or  a  client,  but 
as  perpetual  patron,  benefactor,  and  beatified  man.  Character 
is  centrality,  the  impossibility  of  being  displaced  or  overset 
A  man  should  give  us  a  sense  of  mass.  Society  is  frivolous, 
and  shreds  its  day  into  scraps,  its  conversation  into  ceremonies 
and  escapes.  But  if  I  go  to  see  an  ingenious  man,  I  shall 
think  myself  poorly  entertained  if  he  give  me  nimble  pieces  of 
benevolence  and  etiquette ;  rather  he  shall  stand  stoutly  in  hk 
place,  and  let  me  apprehend,  if  it  were  only  his  resistance  ; 
know  that  I  have  encountered  a  new  and  positive  quality  ; — 
great  refreshment  for  both  of  us.  It  is  much,  that  he  does 
not  accept  the  conventional  opinions  and  practices.  That  non- 
conformity will  remain  a  goad  and  remembrancer,  and  every 
inquirer  will  have  to  dispose  of  him,  in  the  first  place.  There 
is  nothing  real  or  useful  that  is  not  a'  seat  of  war.  Our  houses 
ring  with  laughter  and  personal  and  critical  gossip,  but  it 
helps  little.  But  the  uncivil,  unavailable  man,  who  is  a  prob- 
lem and  a  threat  to  society,  whom  it  cannot  let  pass  in  silence, 
but  must  either  worship  or  hate, — and  to  whom  all  parties  feel 
related,  both  the  leaders  of  opinion,  and  the  obscure  and  eccen- 
tric,— he  helps ;  he  puts  America  and  Europe  in  the  wrong, 
and  destroys  the  skepticism  which  sa}'S, '  man  is  a  doll,  let  us 
eat  and  drink,  'tis  the  best  we  can  do,'  by  illuminating  the  un- 
tried and  unknown.  Acquiescence  in  the  establishment,  and 
appeal  to  the  public,  indicate  infirm  faith,  heads  which  are  not 
clear,  and  which  must  see  a  house  built,  before  they  can  com- 
prehend the  plan  of  it.  The  wise  man  not  only  leaves  out  of 
his  thought  the  many,  but  leaves  out  the  few.  Fountains, 
fountains,  the  self-moved,  the  absorbed,  the  commander  because 
he  is  commanded,  the  assured,  the  primary, — they  are  good  ; 
for  these  announce  the  instant  presence  of  supreme  power. 

Our  action  should  rest  mathematically  on  our  substance 
In  nature,  there  are  no  false  valuations.  A  pound  of  water 
in  the  ocean-tempest  has  no  more  gravity  than  in  a  mid-sum- 
mer pond.  All  things  work  exactly  according  to  their  quality, 
and  according  to  their  quantity ;  attempt  nothing  they  can- 
not do,  except  man  only.  He  has  pretension  :  he  wishes  and 
attempts  things  beyond  his  force.  I  read  in  a  book  of  Eng- 
lish memoirs,  "  Mr.  Fox  (afterwards  Lord  Holland)  said,  he 
must  have  the  Treasury  ;  he  had  served  up  to  it,  and  would 
have  it." — Xenophon  and  his  Ten  Thousand  were  quite  equal 
to  what  they  attempted,  and  did  it ;  so  equal,  that  it  was  not 
suspected  to  be  a  grand  and  inimitable  exploit.  Yet  there 
•tands  that  foct  uaxepeated,  a  high-water-mark  in  military 


CHARACTER.  55 

history.  Many  have  attempted  it  since,  and  not  been  equal 
to  it.  It  is  only  on  reality,  that  any  power  of  action  can  be 
based.  No  institution  will  be  better  than  the  institutor.  I 
knew  an  amiable  and  accomplished  person  who  undertook  a 
practical  reform,  yet  I  was  never  able  to  find  in  him  the  enter- 
prise  of  love  he  took  in  hand.  He  adopted  it  by  ear  and  by 
the  understanding  from  the  books  he  had  been  reading.  Ali 
his  action  was  tentative,  a  piece  of  the  city  carried  out  into 
the  fields,  and  was  the  city  still,  and  no  new  fact,  and  could 
not  inspire  enthusiasm.  Had  there  been  something  latent  in 
the  man,  a  terrible  undemonstrated  genius  agitating  and  em- 
barrassing his  demeanor,  we  had  watched  for  its  advent.  It 
is  not  enough  that  the  intellect  should  see  the  evils,  and  their 
remedy.  We  shall  still  postpone  our  existence,  nor  take  the 
ground  to  which  we  are  entitled,  whilst  it  is  only  a  thought, 
and  not  a  spirit  that  incites  us.  We  have  not  yet  served  up 
to  it. 

These  are  properties  of  life,  and  another  trait  is  the  notice 
of  incessant  growth.  Men  should  be  intelligent  and  earnest. 
They  must  also  make  us  feel,  that  they  have  a  controlling 
happy  future,  opening  before  them,  which  sheds  a  splendor  on 
the  passing  hour.  The  hero  is  misconceived  and  misreported: 
he  cannot  therefore  wait  to  unravel  any  man's  blunders :  he  is 
again  on  his  road,  adding  new  powers  and  honors  to  his  do- 
main, and  new  claims  on  your  heart,  which  will  bankrupt  you, 
if  you  have  loitered  about  the  old  things,  and  have  not  kept 
your  relation  to  him,  by  adding  to  your  wealth.  New  actions 
are  the  only  apologies  and  explanations  of  old  ones,  which  the 
noble  can  bear  to  offer  or  to  receive.  If  your  friend  has  dis- 
pleased you,  you  shall  not  sit  down  to  consider  it,  for  he  has 
already  lost  all  memory  of  the  passage,  and  has  doubled  his 
power  to  serve  you,  and,  ere  you  can  rise  up  again,  will  bur- 
den you  with  blessings. 

We  have  no  pleasure  in  thinking  of  a  benevolence  that  is 
only  measured  by  its  works.  Love  is  inexhaustible,  and  if  its 
estate  is  wasted,  its  granary  emptied,  still  cheers  and  enriches, 
and  the  man,  though  he  sleep,  seems  to  purify  the  air,  and  his 
house  to  adorn  the  landscape  and  strengthen  the  laws.  Peo- 
ple always  recognize  this  difference.  We  know  who  is  benev- 
olent, by  quite  other  means  than  the  amount  of  subscription 
to  soup-societies.  It  is  only  low  merits  tha',  can  be  en u tin-r- 
ated. Fear,  when  your  friends  say  to  you  what  you  have 
done  well,  and  say  it  through  ;  but  when  they  stand  with  un- 
certain timid  looks  of  respect  and  half-dislike,  and  must  sus- 
pend their  judgment  for  years  to  come,  you  may  begin  to 


66  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

hope.  Those  who  live  to  the  future  must  always  appear  sel« 
fish  to  those  who  live  to  the  present.  Therefore  it  was  droll 
in  the  good  Riemer,  who  has  written  memoirs  of  Goethe,  to 
make  out  a  list  of  his  donations  and  good  deeds,  as,  so  many 
hundred  thalers  given  to  Stilling,  to  Hegel,  to  Tischbein :  a 
lucrative  place  found  for  Professor  Voss,  a  post  under  the 
Grand  Duke  for  Herder,  a  pension  for  Meyer,  two  professors 
recommended  to  foreign  universities,  &c.,  &c.  The  longest 
list  of  specifications  of  benefit,  would  look  very  short.  A  man 
is  a  poor  creature,  if  he  is  to  be  measured  so.  For,  all  these, 
of  course,  are  exceptions ;  and  the  rule  and  hodiernal  lite  of  a 
good  man  is  benefaction.  The  true  charity  of  Goethe  is  to  be 
inferred  from  the  account  he  gave  Dr.  Eckermann,  of  the  way 
in  which  he  had  spent  his  fortune.  "  Each  bon-mot  of  mine 
has  cost  a  purse  of  gold.  Half  a  million  of  my  own  money, 
the  fortune  I  inherited,  my  salary,  and  the  large  income  de- 
rived from  my  writings  for  fifty  years  back,  have  been  ex- 
pended to  instruct  me  in  wUat  I  now  know.  I  have  besides 
seen,"  &c. 

I  own  it  is  but  poor  chat  and  gossip  to  go  to  enumerate 
traits  of  this  simple  and  rapid  power,  and  we  are  painting  the 
lightning  with  charcoal ;  but  in  these  long  nights  and  vaca- 
tions, I  like  to  console  myself  so.  Nothing  but  itself  can 
copy  it.  A  word  warm  from  the  heart  enriches  me.  I  sur- 
render at  discretion.  How  death-cold  is  literary  genius  be- 
fore this  fire  of  life !  These  are  the  touches  that  reanimate 
my  heavy  soul,  and  give  it  eyes  to  pierce  the  dark  of  nature. 
I  find,  where  I  thought  myself  poor,  there  was  I  most  rich. 
Thence  comes  a  new  intellectual  exaltation,  to  be  again  re- 
buked by  some  new  exhibition  of  character.  Strange  alterna- 
tion  of  attraction  and  repulsion !  Character  repudiates  intel- 
lect, yet  excites  it ;  and  character  passes  into  thought,  is  pub- 
lished so,  and  then  is  ashamed  before  new  flashes  of  iccral 
worth. 

Character  is  nature  in  the  highest  form.  It  is  of  n.  ^&e  to 
ape  it,  or  to  contend  with  it.  Somewhat  is  possible  of  :  esist- 
ance,  and  of  persistence,  and  of  creation,  to  this  power,  which 
will  foil  all  emulation. 

This  masterpiece  is  best  where  no  hands  but  nature's  have 
been  laid  on  it.  Care  is  taken  that  the  greatly-destined  shall 
slip  up  into  life  in  the  shade,  with  no  thousand-eyed  Athens 
to  watch  and  blazon  every  new  thought,  every  blushing  emo- 
tion of  young  genius.  Two  persons  lately, — very  young  chil- 
dren of  the  most  high  God, — have  given  me  occasion  for 
thought.  When  I  explored  the  source  of  their  sanctity,  and 


CHARACTER  57 

charm  for  the  imagination,  it  seemed  as  if  each  answered, 
'From  my  non-conformity:  I  never  listened  to  your  people's 
law,  or  to  what  they  call  their  gospel,  and  wasted  my  tiiiu-.  I 
was  content  with  the  simple  rural  poverty  of  my  own  :  hence 
this  sweetness:  my  work  never  reminds  you  of  that ;— is 
pure  of  that.'  And  nature  advertises  me  in  such  persons, 
that,  in  Democratic  America,  she  will  not  be  democratized. 
'  cloistered  and  constitutionally  sequestered  from  the 
•r.inket  and  from  scandal  I  It  was  only  this  morning,  that  I 
.sent  away  some  wild  flowers  of  these  wood-gods.  They  are  a 
relief  from  literature,— these  fresh  draughts  from  the  sources 
Df  thought  and  sentiment ;  as  we  read,  in  an  age  of  polish 
and  criticism,  the  first  lines  of  written  prose  and  verse  of  a 
nation.  How  captivating  is  their  devotion  to  their  favorite 
books,  whether  ^Eschylus,  Dante,  Sbakspeare,  or  Scott,  as 
feeling  that  they  have  a  stake  in  that  book :  who  touches 
that,  touches  them  ; — and  especially  the  total  solitude  of  the 
critic,  the  Patmos  of  thought  from  which  he  writes,  in  uncon- 
sciousness of  any  eyes  that  shall  ever  read  this  writing. 
Could  they  dream  on  still,  as  angels,  and  not  wake  to  com- 
parisons, and  to  be  flattered  I  Yet  some  natures  are  too  good 
to  be  spoiled  by  praise,  and  wherever  the  vein  of  thought 
reaches  down  into  the  profound,  there  is  no  danger  from  van- 
ity. Solemn  friends  will  warn  them  of  the  danger  of  the 
head's  being  turned  by  the  flourish  of  trumpets,  but  they  can 
afford  to  smile.  I  remember  the  indignation  of  an  eloquent 
Methodist  at  the  kind  admonitions  of  a  Doctor  of  Divinity, — 
'  My  friend,  a  man  can  neither  be  praised  nor  insulted.'  But 
forgive  the  counsels  ;  they  are  very  natural.  I  remember  the 
thought  which  occurred  to  me  when  some  ingenious  and  spir- 
itual foreigners  came  to  America,  was,  Have  you  been  victim- 
ized in  being  brought  hither  ? — or,  prior  to  that,  answer  me 
this, '  Are  you  victimizable  ?  ' 

As  I  have  said,  nature  keeps  these  sovereignties  in  her  own 
hands ;  and  however  pertly  our  sermons  and  disciplines  would 
divide  some  share  of  credit,  and  teach  that  the  laws  fashion 
the  citizen,  she  goes  her  own  gait,  and  puts  the  wisest  in  the 
wrong.  She  makes  very  light  of  gospel  and  prophets,  as  one 
who  has  a  great  many  more  to  produce,  and  no  excess  of  time 
to  spare  on  any  one.  There  is  a  class  of  men,  individuals  of 
which  appear  at  long  intervals,  so  eminently  endowed  with  in- 
sight  and  virtue,  that  they  have  been  unanimously  saluted  as 
divine,  and  who  seem  to  be  an  accumulation  of  that  power  we 
consider.  Divine  persons  are  character  born,  or,  to  borrow  ft 
phrase  from  Napoleon,  they  are  victory  organized.  They  •*• 


IB  EMEXSON'S  ESSAYS. 

usually  received  with  ill-will,  because  they  are  new,  and  b*» 
cause  they  set  a  bound  to  the  exaggeration  that  has  beee 
made  of  the  personality  of  the  last  divine  person.  Nature 
never  rhymes  her  children,  nor  makes  two  men  alike.  Whea 
we  see  a  great  man,  we  fancy  a  resemblance  to  some  historical 
person,  and  predict  the  sequel  of  his  character  and  fortune,  ji 
result  which  he  is  sure  to  disappoint.  None  will  ever  solvg 
the  problem  of  his  character  according  to  our  prejudice,  buft 
only  in  his  own  high  unprecedented  way.  Character  want*, 
room  ;  must  not  be  crowded  on  by  persons,  nor  be  judge  • 
from  glimpses  got  in  the  press  of  affairs  or  on  few  occasions, 
It  needs  perspective,  as  a  great  building.  It  may  not,  prot- 
ably  does  not,  form  relations  rapidly  ;  and  we  should  not  r* 
quire  rash  explanation,  either  on  the  popular  ethics,  or  on  out 
own,  of  its  action. 

I  look  on  Sculpture  as  history.  I  do  not  think  the  Apollo 
and  the  Jove  impossible  in  flesh  and  blood.  Every  trait  which 
the  artist  recorded  in  stone,  he  had  seen  in  life,  and  better  than 
his  copy.  We  have  seen  many  counterfeits,  but  we  are  born 
believers  in  great  men.  How  easily  we  read  in  old  books, 
when  men  were  few,  of  the  smallest  action  of  the  patriarchs. 
We  require  that  a  man  should  be  so  large  and  columnar  in  the 
landscape,  that  it  should  deserve  to  be  recorded,  that  he  arose, 
and  girded  up  his  loins,  and  departed  to  such  a  place.  The 
most  credible  pictures  are  those  of  majestic  men  who  prevailed 
at  their  entrance,  and  convinced  the  senses ;  as  happened  to 
the  eastern  magian  who  was  sent  to  test  the  merits  of  Zertusht 
or  Zoroaster.  When  the  Yunani  sage  arrived  at  Balkh,  the 
Persians  tell  us,  Gushtasp  appointed  a  day  on  which  the  Mo- 
beds  of  every  country  should  assemble,  and  a  golden  chair 
was  placed  for  the  Yunani  sage.  Then  the  beloved  of  Yez- 
dam,  the  prophet  Zertusht,  advanced  into  the  midst  of  the  as- 
sembly. The  Yunani  sage,  on  seeing  that  chief,  said,  "  This 
form  and  this  gait  cannot  lie,  and  nothing  but  truth  can  pro- 
ceed from  them."  Plato  said,  it  was  impossible  not  to  believe 
in  the  children  of  the  gods,  "  though  they  should  speak  with- 
out probable  or  necessary  arguments."  I  should  think  my- 
self  very  unhappy  in  my  associates,  if  I  could  not  credit  the 
best  things  in  history.  "  John  Bradshaw,"  says  Milton.  "  ap- 
pears like  a  consul,  from  whom  the  fasces  are  not  to  depart 
with  the  year ;  so  that  not  on  the  tribunal  onty,  but  through- 
out his  life,  you  would  regard  him  as  sitting  in  judgment  upon 
kings."  I  find  it  more  credible,  since  it  is  anterior  informa- 
tion, that  one  man  should  know  heaven,  as  the  Chinese  say, 
than  that  so  many  men  should  know  the  world.  "  The  virtu? 


CHARACTER.  59 

ous  prince  confronts  the  gods,  without  any  misgiving.  He 
waits  a  hundred  ages  till  a  sage  comes,  and  does  not  doubt. 
He  who  confronts  the  gods,  without  any  misgiving,  knows 
heaven;  he  who  waits  a  hundred  ages  until  &  sage  comes, 
without  doubting,  knows  men.  Hence  the  virtuous  prince 
moves,  and  for  ages  shows  empire  the  way."  But  there  is  no 
need  to  seek  remote  examples.  He  is  a  dull  observer  whose 
experience  has  no*,  taught  him  the  reality  and  force  of  magic, 
as  well  as  of  chemistry.  The  coldest  precisian  cannot  go 
abroad  without  encountering  inexplicable  influences.  One  man 
fastens  an  eye  on  him,  and  the  graves  of  the  memory  render 
up  their  dead  ;  the  secrets  that  make  him  wretched  either  to 
keep  or  to  betray,  must  be  yielded ;— another,  and  he  cannot 
speak,  and  the  bones  of  his  body  seem  to  lose  their  cartilages  ; 
the  entrance  of  a  friend  adds  grace,  boldness,  and  eloquence 
to  him  ;  and  there  are  persons,  he  cannot  choose  but  remem- 
ber, who  gave  a  transcendant  expansion  to  his  thought,  and 
kindled  another  life  in  his  bosom. 

What  is  so  excellent  as  strict  relations  of  amity,  when  they 
spring  from  this  deep  root  ?  The  sufficient  reply  to  the  skep- 
tic, who  doubts  the  power  and  the  furniture  of  man,  is  in  that 
possibility  of  joyful  intercourse  with  persons,  which  makes 
the  faith  and  practice  of  all  reasonable  men.  I  know  nothing 
which  life  has  to  offer  so  satisfying  as  the  profound  good  un- 
derstanding, which  can  subsist,  after  much  exchange  of  good 
offices,  between  two  virtuous  men,  each  of  whom  is  sure  of 
himself,  and  sure  of  his  friend.  It  is  a  happiness  which  post- 
pones all  other  gratifications,  and  makes  politics,  and  com- 
merce,  and  churches,  cheap.  For,  when  men  shall  meet  as 
they  ought,  each  a  benefactor,  a  shower  of  stars,  clothed  with 
thoughts,  with  deeds,  with  accomplishments,  it  should  be  the 
festival  of  nature  which  all  things  announce.  Of  such  friend- 
ship, love  in  the  sexes  is  the  first  symbol,  as  all  other  things 
are  symbols  of  love.  Those  relations  to  the  best  men,  which, 
at  one  time,  we  reckoned  the  romances  of  youth,  become,  in 
the  ^regress  of  the  character,  the  most  solid  enjoyment. 

If  it  were  possible  to  live  in  right  relations  with  men  I — it 
we  could  abstain  from  asking  anything  of  them,  from  asking 
their  praise,  or  help,  or  pity,  and  content  us  with  compelling 
them  through  the  virtue  of  the  eldest  laws !  Could  we  not 
deal  uith  a  few  persons, — with  one  person, — after  the  un- 
written statutes,  and  make  an  experiment  of  their  efficacy  ? 
Could  we  not  pay  our  friend  the  compliment  of  truth,  of  silence, 
Of  forbearing  ?  'Need  we  be  so  eager  to  seek  him  ?  If  we  are 
related ,  we  shall  meet  It  was  a  tradition  of  the  ancient  world* 


60  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

that  no  metamorphosis  could  hide  a  god  from  a  god »  and  therf 
is  a  Greek  verse  which  runs, 

"The  Gods  are  to  each  other  not  unknown." 

Friends  also  follow  the  laws  of  divine  necessity ;  ibey  grav* 
tate  to  each  other,  and  cannot  otherwise : — 

When  each  the  other  shall  avoid, 
Shall  each  by  each  be  most  enjoyed. 

Their  relation  is  not  made,  but  allowed.  The  gods  must  seat 
themselves  without  seneschal  in  our  Olympus,  and  as  they  can 
instal  themselves  by  seniority  divine.  Society  is  spoiled,  if 
pains  are  taken,  if  the  associates  are  brought  a  m:;c  to  meet. 
And  if  it  be  not  society,  it  is  a  mischievous,  low,  degrading 
jangle,  though  made  up  of  the  best.  All  the  greatness  of  each 
is  kept  back,  and  every  foible  in  painful  activity,  as  if  the 
Olympians  should  meet  to  exchange  snuff-boxes. 

Life  goes  headlong.  We  chase  some  flying  scheme,  or  w<? 
are  hunted  by  some  fear  or  command  behind  us.  But  if  sud- 
denly we  encounter  a  friend,  we  pause ;  or  heat  and  hurry 
look  foolish  enough ;  now  pause,  now  possession,  is  required, 
and  the  power  to  swell  the  moment  from  the  resources  of  the 
heart.  The  moment  is  all,  in  all  noble  relations. 

A  divine  person  is  the  prophecy  of  the  mind ;  a  friend  is  the 
hope  of  the  heart.  Our  beatitude  waits  for  the  fulfilment  of 
these  two  in  one.  The  ages  are  opening  this  moral  force.  All 
force  is  the  shadow  or  symbol  of  that.  Poetry  is  joyful  and 
•trong,  as  it  draws  its  inspiration  thence.  Men  write  their 
names  on  the  world,  as  they  are  filled  with  this.  History  has 
been  mean  ;  our  nations  have  been  mobs ;  we  have  never  seen  a 
man  :  that  divine  form  we  do  not  yet  know,  but  only  the  dream 
and  prophecy  of  such  we  do  not  know  the  majestic  manners 
•which  belong  to  him,  which  appease  and  exalt  the  beholder, 
We  shall  one  day  see  that  the  most  private  is  the  most  public 
energy,  that  quality  atones  for  quantity,  and  grandeur  of 
character  acts  in  the  dark,  and  succors  them  who  never  saw  it 
What  greatness  has  yet  appeared,  is  beginnings  and  encourage- 
ments to  us  in  this  direction.  The  history  of  those  gods  and 
saints  which  the  world  has  written,  and  then  worshipped,  are 
documents  of  character.  The  ages  have  exulted  in  the  man- 
Bers  of  a  youth  who  owed  nothing  to  fortune,  and  who  was 
hanged  at  the  Tyburn  of  his  nation,  who,  by  the  pure  quality 
of  his  nature,  shed  an  epic  splendor  around  the  facts  of  his 
death,  which  has  transfigured  every  particular  into  an  univer- 
sal symbol  for  the  eyes  oi  mankind.  This  great  defeat  is 


CHARACTER.  ^ 

hitherto  our  highest  fact.  But  the  mind  requires  a  victory  to 
tLe  senses,  a  force  of  character  which  will  convert  judge,  jury, 
soldier,  and  king;  which  will  rule  animal  and  minerafvi'rtues,' 
and  blend  with  the  courses  of  sap,  of  rivers,  of  winds,  of  stars, 
and  of  moral  agents. 

If  we  cannot  attain  at  a  bound  to  these  grandeurs,  at  least, 
let  us  do  them  homage.  In  society,  high  advantages  are  set 
down  to  the  possessor,  as  disadvantages.  It  requires  the  more 
Wariness  in  our  private  estimates.  I  do  not  forgive  in  my 
friends  the  failure  to  know  a  fine  character,  and  to  entertain  it 
with  thankful  hospitality.  When,  at  last,  that  which  we  have 
always  longed  for,  is  arrived,  and  shines  on  us  with  glad  rays 
out  of  that  far  celestial  land,  then  to  be  coarse,  then  to  be 
critical,  and  treat  such  a  visitant  with  the  jabber  and  suspiciom 
of  the  streets,  argues  a  vulgarity  that  seems  to  shut  the  doors 
of  heaven.  This  is  confusion,  this  the  right  insanity,  when  the 
soul  no  longer  knows  its  own,  nor  where  its  allegiance,  its  re- 
ligion, are  due.  Is  there  any  religion  but  this,  to  know,  that, 
wherever  in  the  wide  desert  of  being,  the  holy  sentiment  we 
cherish  has  opened  into  a  flower,  it  blooms  for  me  ?  if  none 
sees  it,  t  see  it ;  I  am  aware,  if  I  alone,  of  the  greatness  of  the 
fact.  Whilst  it  blooms,  I  will  keep  sabbath  or  holy  time,  and 
suspend  my  gloom,  and  my  folly  and  jokes.  Nature  is  in- 
dulged by  the  presence  of  this  guest.  There  are  many  eyes 
that  can  detect  and  honor  the  prudent  and  household  virtues ; 
there  are  man}'  that  can  discern  Genius  on  his  starry  track, 
though  the  mob  is  incapable ;  but  when  that  love  which  is  all- 
suffering,  all-abstaining,  all -aspiring,  which  has  vowed  to  itself, 
that  it  will  be  a  wretch  and  also  a  fool  in  this  world,  sooner 
than  soil  its  white  hands  by  any  compliances,  comes  into  our 
streets  and  houses, — only  the  pure  and  aspiring  ca^  know  its 
fece,  and  the  only  compliment  they  can  p*y  it,  is  *o  own  it 


MANNERS 


*How  near  to  good  is  what  k>  <oir! 
Which  we  no  sooner  see, 
But  with  the  lines  and  outward  air 
Our  senses  taken  be. 

Again  yourselves  compose, 
And  now  pnt  all  the  aptness  on 
Of  Figure,  that  Proportion 

Or  Color  can  disclose  ; 
That  if  those  silent  arts  were  lost, 
Design  and  Picture,  they  might  boast, 

From  you  a  newer  ground, 
Instructed  by  the  heightening  sense 
Of  dignity  and  reverence 

fa  their  true  motions  found." 

BKV  JOMSOK. 


ESSAY  IVi 
MANNERS. 


HALF  the  world,  it  is  said,  knows  not  how  the  other  hall 
Uve.  Our  Exploring  Expedition  saw  the  Feejee  islanders 
getting  their  dinner  off  human  bones;  and  they  are  said  to 
eat  their  own  \\iVes  and  children.  The  husbandry  of  the 
modern  inhabitants  of  Gournou  (west  of  old  Thebes)  is  philo- 
sophical to  a  fault.  To  set  up  their  housekeeping,  nothing  is 
requisite  but  two  or  three  earthen  pots,  a  stone  to  grind 
meal,  and  a  mat  which  is  the  bed.  The  house,  namely,  a  tomb, 
is  ready  without  rent  or  taxes,  No  rain  can  pass  through  the 
roof,  and  there  is  no  door,  for  there  is  no  want  of  one,  as  there 
is  nothing  to  lose.  If  the  house  do  not  please  them,  t  iey 
walk  out  and  enter  another,  as  there  are  several  hundreds  at 
their  command.  "  It  is  somewhat  singular,"  adds  Belzoni,  to 
whom  we  owe  this  account,  u  to  talk  of  happiness  among 
people  who  live  in  sepulchres,  among  the  corpses  and  rags  of 
an  ancient  nation  which  they  know  nothing  of."  In  the  de- 
serts of  Borgoo,  the  rock-Tibboos  still  dwell  in  caves,  like 
cliff-swallows,  and  the  language  of  these  negroes  is  compared 
by  their  neighbors  to  the  shrieking  of  bats,  and  to  the  whistl- 
ing of  birds.  Again,  the  Bornoos  have  no  proper  names  ;  in- 
dividuals are  called  after  their  height,  thickness,  or  other  acci- 
dental quality,  »od  have  nicknames  merely.  But  the  salt,  the 
dates,  the  ivory,  md  the  gold,  for  which  these  horrible  regions 
are  visited,  find  their  way  into  countries,  where  the  purchaser 
and  consumer  caa  hardly  be  ranked  in  one  race  with  these  can- 
nibals and  mai.-steals  ;  countries  where  man  serv  es  himself 
with  metals,  rrood,  stone,  glass,  gum,  cotton,  silk,  and  wool; 
honors  hirrself  with  architecture;  writes  laws,  and  contrive.-;  to 
execute  hi*  v/lll  through  the  hands  of  many  nations;  and,  es- 
pecially, wtaolishes  a  select  society,  running  through  all  the 
countries  of  intelligent  men,  a  self-constituted  aristocracy,  or 
fraternity  of  the  best  which,  without  written  law  or  exact 
usage  of  any  kind,  perpetuates  itself,  colonizes  every  m-w- 
planted  island,  and  adopts  and  makes  its  own  whate\ 
eonal  b**uty  or  extraordinary  native  endowment  any  where  ap- 
MM* 


ESSAYS. 

What  fact  more  conspicuous  in  modern  history,  than  thl 
creation  of  the  gentleman  ?  Chivalry  is  that,  and  loyalty  is 
that,  and,  in  English  literature,  half  the  drama,  and  all  the 
novels,  from  Sir  Philip  Sidney  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  paint  this 
figure.  The  word  gentleman,  which,  like  the  word  Christian, 
must  hereafter  characterize  the  present  and  the  few  preceding 
centuries,  by  the  importance  attached  to  it,  is  a  homage  to 
personal  and  incommunicable  properties.  Frivolous  and  fan- 
tastic  additions  have  got  associated  with  the  name,  but  the 
steady  interest  of  mankind  in  it  must  be  attributed  to  the 
valuable  properties  which  it  designates.  An  element  which 
unites  all  the  most  forcible  persons  of  every  country  ;  makes 
them  intelligible  and  agreeable  to  each  other,  and  is  somewhat 
so  precise,  that  it  is  at  once  felt  if  an  individual  lack  the  ma- 
sonic sign,  cannot  be  any  casual  product,  but  must  bean  aver- 
age result  of  the  character  and  faculties  universally  found  in 
men.  It  seems  a  certain  permanent  average  ;  as  the  atmosphere 
is  a  permanent  composition,  whilst  so  many  gases  are  combined 
only  to  be  decompounded.  Comme  il  faut,  is  the  French' 
man's  description  of  good  society,  as  we  must  be.  It  is  a 
spontaneous  fruit  of  talents  and  feelings  of  precisely  that 
class  who  have  most  vigor,  who  take  the  lead  in  the  world  of 
this  hour,  and,  though  far  from  pure,  far  from  constituting  the 
gladdest  and  highest  tone  of  human  feeling,  is  as  good  as  the 
whole  society  permits  it  to  be.  It  is  made  of  the  spirit,  mora 
than  of  the  talent  of  men,  and  is  a  compound  result,  int< 
which  every  great  force  enters  as  an  ingi-edient,  namely,  vir 
tue,  wit,  beauty,  wealth,  and  power. 

There  is  something  equivocal  in  all  the  words  in  use  to  re- 
press the  excellence  of  manners  and  social  cultivation,  be- 
cause the  quantities  are  fluxional,  and  t'ae  last  effeot  is  as- 
fcumed  by  the  senses  as  the  cause.  The  v/ord  gentleman  has 
pot  any  correlative  abstract  to  express  the  Duality.  Gentility 
fe  irean,  and  gentilesse  is  obsolete.  But  we  must  keep  alive 
in  the  vernacular,  the  distinction  betweer  fashion,  a  word  of 
narrow  an*\  often  sinister  meaning,  an'l  the  heroic  charactei 
which  the  gentleman  imports.  The  usual  words,  however 
must  be  respected :  they  will  be  founn  to  .contain  the  root  oi 
the  matter.  The  point  of  distinction  i'a  all  this  class  of  names 
as  courtesy,  chivalry,  fashion,  and  the  like,  is,  that  the  flowei 
and  fruit,  not  the  grain  of  the  tree,  are  contemplated.  It  is 
beauty  which  is  the  aim  this  time,  and  not  worth.  The  result 
is  now  in  question,  although  our  words  intimate  well  enough 
the  popular  feeling,  that  the  appearance  supposes  a  substance 
The  gentleman  is  a  man  of  truth,  lord  of  his  own  actions,  an* 


MANNERS.  or 

expressing  that  lordship  in  his  behavior,  not  in  any  mannet 
dependent  and  servile  either  on  persons,  or  opinions,  or  pos- 
sessions- Beyond  this  fact  of  truth  and  real  force,  the  word 
denotes  good-nature  or  benevolence  :  manhood  first,  and  then 
gentleness.  The  popular  notion  certainly  adds  a  condition  of 
ease  and  fortune ;  but  that  is  a  natural  result  of  personal  force 
and  love,  that  they  should  possess  and  dispense  the  goods  of 
the  world.  In  times  of  violence,  every  eminent  person  must 
fall  in  with  many  opportunities  to  approve  his  stoutness  and 
worth  ;  therefore  every  man's  name  that  emerged  at  all  from 
the  mass  in  the  feudal  ages,  rattles  in  our  ear  like  a  flourish 
of  trumpets.  But  personal  force  never  goes  out  of  fashion. 
That  is  still  paramount  to-day,  and,  in  the  moving  crowd  of 
good  society,  the  men  of  valor  and  reality  are  known,  and  rise 
to  their  natural  place.  The  competition  is  transferred  from 
war  to  politics  and  trade,  but  the  personal  force  appears 
readily  enough  in  these  new  arenas. 

Power  first,  or  no  leading  class.  In  politics  and  in  trade, 
bruisers  and  pirates  are  of  better  promise  than  talkers  and 
clerks.  God  knows  that  all  sorts  of  gentlemen  knock  at  the 
door :  but  whenever  used  in  strictness,  and  with  any  emphasis, 
the  name  will  be  found  to  point  at  original  energy.  It  de- 
scribes a  man  standing  in  his  own  right,  and  working  after  un- 
taught methods.  In  a  good  lord,  there  must  first  be  a  good 
animal,  at  least  to  the  extent  -f  yielding  the  incomparable  ad- 
vantage  of  animal  spirits.  The  ruling  class  must  have  more, 
but  they  must  have  these,  giving  in  every  company  the  sense 
of  power,  which  makes  things  easy  to  be  done  which  daunt  the 
wise.  The  society  of  the  energetic  class,  in  their  friendly  and 
festive  meetings,  is  full  of  courage,  and  of  attempts,  which  in- 
timidate  the  pale  scholar.  The  courage  which  girls  exhibit  ia 
like  a  battle  of  Lundy's  Lane,  or  a  sea-fight.  The  intellect  re- 
lies on  memory  to  make  some  supplies  to  face  these  extempor- 
nneous  squadrons.  But  memory  is  a  base  mendicant  with  bas- 
ket and  badge,  in  the  presence  of  these  sudden  masters.  The 
rulers  of  society  must  be  up  to  the  work  of  the  world,  and  equal 
to  their  versatile  office :  men  of  the  right  Ceesarian  pattern, 
who  have  great  range  of  affinity.  I  am  far  from  believing  the 
timid  maxim  of  Lord  Falkland,  ("  that  for  ceremony  there  must 
go  two  to  it ;  since  a  bold  fellow  will  go  through  the  cunningest 
forms,")  and  am  of  opinion  that  the  gentleman  is  the  bold  fel- 
low whose  forms  are  not  to  be  broken  through  ;  and  only  that 
plenteous  nature  is  rightful  master,  which  ia  the  complement 
of  wuatever  person  it  converses  with.  My  gentleman  gives 
tte  law  whev«  he  is  ;  he  will  outpray  saints  in  chapel,  outgen- 


<*  EMERSON'S  ESSA7& 

eral  veterans  in  the  field,  and  outshine  all  courtesy  m  the  na** 
He  is  good  company  for  pirates,  and  good  with  academicians 
BO  that  it  is  useless  to  fortify  yourself  against  him ;  he  has 
the  private  entrance  to  all  minds,  and  I  could  as  easily  ex 
elude  myself,  as  him.  The  famous  gentlemen  of  Asia  and 
Europe  have  been  of  this  strong  type :  Saladin,  Sapor,  the 
Cid,  Julius  Ccesar,  Scipio,  Alexander,  Pericles,  and  the  lord- 
liest personages.  They  sat  very  carelessly  in  their  chairs, 
and  were  too  excellent  themselves,  to  value  any  condition  at  a 
high  rate. 

A  plentiful  fortune  is  reckoned  necessary,  in  the  popular 
Judgment,  to  the  completion  of  this  man  of  the  world  :  and 
it  is  a  material  deputy  which  walks  through  the  dance  which 
the  first  has  led.  Money  is  not  essential  but  this  wide  affinity 
is,  which  transcends  the  habits  of  clique  and  caste,  and  makes 
itself  felt  by  men  of  all  classes.  If  the  aristocrat  is  only  valid  in 
fashionable  circles,  and  not  with  truckmen,  he  will  never  be  a 
leader  in  fashion ;  and  if  the  man  of  the  people  cannot  speak 
on  equal  terms  with  the  gentleman,  so  that  the  gentleman 
shall  perceive  that  he  is  already  really  of  his  own  order,  he  is 
not  to  be  feared.  Diogenes,  Socrates,  and  Epamjnondas,  are 
gentlemen  of  the  best  blood,  who  have  chosen  the  condition 
of  povert}r,  when  that  of  wealth  was  equally  open  to  them.  J 
use  these  old  names,  but  the  men  I  speak  of  are  my  contem- 
poraries. Fortune  will  not  supply  to  every  generation  one  of 
these  well-appointed  knights,  but  every  collection  of  men  fur 
nishes  some  example  of  the  class :  and  the  politics  of  this 
country,  and  the  trade  of  every  town,  are  controlled  by  these 
hardy  and  irresponsible  doers,  who  have  invention  to  take  the 
lead,  and  a  broad  sympathy  which  puts  them  in  fellowship 
with  crowds,  and  makes  their  action  popular. 

The  manners  of  this  class  are  observed  and  caught  with  de- 
votion by  men  of  taste.  The  association  of  these  masters  with 
each  other,  and  with  men  intelligent  of  their  merits,  is  mut.: 
ally  agreeable  and  stimulating.  The  good  forms,  the  happiest 
expressions  of  each,  are  repeated  and  adopted.  By  swift  con 
sent,  everything  superfluous  is  dropped,  everything  graceful 
is  renewed.  Pine  manners  show  themselves  formidable  to  the 
uncultivated  man.  They  are  a  subtler  science  of  defence  to 
parry  and  intimidate ;  but  once  matched  by  the  skill  of  the 
other  party,  they  drop  the  point  of  the  sword,— points  and 
fences  disappear,  and  the  youth  finds  himself  in  a  more  trans- 
parent atmosphere,  wherein  life  is  a  less  troublesome  game, 
»nd  not  a  misunderstanding  rises  between  the  players.  Man- 
ner* aim  to  faciliate  life,  to  get  rid  of  impediments,  and  bring 


•4he  man  pure  to  energize.  They  aid  our  dealing  and  conversa- 
tion, as  a  railway  aids  travelling,  by  getting  rid  of  all  avoid- 
*ble  obstructions  of  the  road,  and  leaving  nothing  to  be  con- 
quered but  pure  space.  These  forms  very  soon  become  fixed, 
*nd  a  fine  sense  of  propriety  is  cultivated  with  the  more  heed, 
that  it  becomes  a  badge  of  social  and  civil  distinctions.  Thus 
grows  up  Fashion,  an  equivocal  semblance,  the  most  puissant, 
the  most  fantastic  and  frivolous,  the  most  feared  and  follows' ! 
and  which  morals  and  violence  assault  in  vain. 

There  exists  a  strict  relation  between  the  class  of  power 
and  the  exclusive  and  polished  circles.  The  last  are  always 
filled  or  filling  from  the  first.  The  strong  men  usually  give 
some  allowance  even  to  the  petulances  of  fashion,  for  that  af- 
finity they  find  in  it.  Napoleon,  child  of  the  revolution,  de- 
stroyer of  the  old  noblesse,  never  ceased  to  court  the  Fau« 
bourg  St.  Germain  :  doubtless  with  the  feeling,  that  fashion  is 
a  homage  to  men  of  his  stamp.  Fashion,  though  in  a 
strange  way,  represents  all  manly  virtue.  It  is  virtue  gone  to 
seed  :  it  is  a  kind  of  posthumous  honor.  It  does  not  often 
caress  the  great,  but  the  children  01  the  great :  it  is  a  ball  of 
the  Past.  It  usually  sets  its  face  against  the  great  of  this 
hour.  Great  men  are  not  commonly  in  its  halls :  they  are  ab- 
sent in  the  field :  they  are  working,  not  triumphing.  Fashion 
is  made  up  f  their  children ;  of  those,  who,  through  the  value 
and  virtue  of  somebod}',  have  acquired  lustre  to  their  name, 
marks  of  distinction,  means  of  cultivation  and  generosity,  and, 
in  their  physical  organization,  a  certain  health  and  excellence, 
which  secures  to  them,  if  not  the  highest  power  to  work, 
yet  high  power  to  enjoy.  The  class  of  power,  the  working 
heroes,  the  Cortez,  the  Nelson,  the  Napoleon,  see  that  this  is 
the  festivity  and  permanent  celebration  ->f  such  as  they ;  that 
fashion  is  funded  talent ;  is  Mexico,  Marengo,  and  Trafalgar 
beaten  out  thin  ;  that  the  brilliant  names  of  fashion  run  bark 
to  just  such  busy  names  as  their  own,  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago. 
They  are  the  sowers,  their  sons  shall  be  the  reapers,  and  tln-ir 
sons,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  must  yield  the  posses- 
sion of  the  harvest  to  new  competitors  with  keener  eyes  and 
stronger  frames.  The  city  is  recruited  from  the  country.  In 
the  year  1805,  it  is  said,  every  legitimate  monarch  in  Knropu 
was  imbecile.  The  city  would  have  died  out,  rotted,  and  t-x- 
ploded,  long  ago,  but  that  it  wna  reinforced  from  the  fa-Ms. 
It  is  only  country  which  came  to  town  day  before  yesterday, 
that  is  city  and  court  to-day. 

Aristocracy  and  fashion  are  certain  inevitable  results. 
These  mutual  selections  are  indestructible,  If  they  provoke 


10  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

anger  in  the  least  favored  class,  and  the  excluded  majority 
revenge  themselves  on  the  excluding  minority,  by  the  strong 
hand,  and  kill  them,  at  once  a  new  class  finds  itself  at  the  top, 
as  certainly  as  cream  rises  in  a  bowl  of  milk :  and  if  the  peo- 
ple should  destroy  class  after  class,  until  two  men  only  were 
left,  one  of  these  would  be  the  leader,  and  would  be  involun- 
tarity  served  and  copied  by  the  other.  You  may  keep  this 
minority  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind,  but  it  is  tenacious  01 
life,  and  is  one  of  the  estates  of  the  realm.  I  am  the  more 
etruck  with  this  tenacity,  when  I  see  its  work.  It  respect* 
the  administration  of  such  unimportant  matters,  that  we 
should  not  look  for  any  durability  in  its  rule.  We  sometimes 
meet  men  under  some  strong  moral  influence,  as,  a  patriotic,  a 
literary,  a  religious  movement,  and  feel  that  the  moral  senti- 
ment rules  man  and  nature.  We  think  all  other  distinctions 
and  ties  will  be  slight  and  fugitive,  this  of  caste  or  fashion, 
for  example  ;  yet  come  from  year  to  year,  and  see  how  per- 
manent that  is,  in  this  Boston  or  New  York  life  of  man, 
where,  too,  it  has  not  the  least  countenance  from  the  law  of 
the  land.  Not  in  Egypt  or  in  India  a  firmer  or  more  impass- 
able line.  Here  are  associations  whose  ties  go  over,  and  un- 
der, and  through  it,  a  meeting  of  merchants,  a  military  corps, 
a  college-class,  a  fire-club,  a  professional  association,  a  politi. 
cal,  a  religious  convention  ; — the  persons  seem  to  draw  insep- 
arably near ;  yet,  that  assembly  once  dispersed,  its  members 
will  not  in  the  year  meet  again.  Each  returns  to  his  degree 
in  the  scale  of  good  society,  porcelain  remains  porcelain,  and 
earthen  earthen.  The  objects  of  fashion  may  be  frivolous,  or 
fashion  may  be  objectless,  but  the  nature  of  this  union  and 
selection  can  be  neither  frivolous  nor  accidental.  Each  man's 
rank  in  that  perfect  graduation  depends  on  some  symmetry  in 
his  structure,  or  some  agreement  in  his  structure  to  the  sym- 
metry of  society.  Its  doors  unbar  instantaneously  to  a  natural 
claim  of  their  own  kind.  A  natural  gentleman  finds  his  way 
in,  and  will  keep  the  oldest  patrician  out,  who  has  lost  his  in- 
trinsic rank.  Fashion  understands  itself;  good-breeding  and 
personal  superiority  of  whatever  country  readily  fraternize 
with  those  of  every  other.  The  chiefs  of  savage  tribes  have 
distinguished  themselves  in  London  and  Paris,  by  the  purity 
of  their  tournure. 

To  say  what  good  of  fashion  we  can, — it  rests  on  reality, 
and  hates  nothing  so  much  as  pretenders ; — to  exclude  and 
mystify  pretenders,  and  send  them  into  everlasting '  Coventry,1 
is  its  delight.  We  contemn,  in  turn,  every  other  gift  of  men 
of  the  world  ;  but  the  habit  even  in  little  and  the  least  mattery 


MANNERS.  a 

of  not  appealing  to  any  but  our  own  sense  of  propriety,  con. 
stitutes  the  foundation  of  all  chivalry.  There  is  almost  no 
kind  of  self-reliance,  so  it  be  sane  and  proportioned,  which 
fashion  does  not  occasionally  adopt,  and  give  it  the  freedom  of 
its  saloons.  A  sainted  soul  is  always  elegant,  and,  if  it  will, 
passes  unchallenged  into  the  most  guarded  ring.  Hut  so  will 
Jock  the  teamster  pass,  in  some  crisis  that  brings  him  thither, 
and  find  favor,  as  long  as  his  head  is  not  giddy  with  the  new 
circumstance,  and  the  iron  shoes  do  not  wish  to  dance  in 
waltzes  and  cotillons.  For  there  is  nothing  settled  in  man- 
ners, but  the  laws  of  behavior  yield  to  the  energy  of  the  in- 
dividual. The  maiden  at  her  first  ball,  the  countryman  at  a 
city  dinner,  believes  that  there  is  a  ritual  according  to  which 
every  act  and  compliment  must  be  performed,  or  the  failing 
party  must  be  cast  out  of  this  presence.  Later,  they  learn 
that  good  sense  and  character  make  their  own  forms  every  mo- 
ment, and  speak  or  abstain,  take  wine  or  refuse  it,  stay  or  go, 
sit  in  a  chair  or  sprawl  with  children  on  the  floor,  or  stand  on 
their  head,  or  what  else  soever,  in  a  new  and  aboriginal  way  : 
and  that  strong  will  is  always  in  fashion,  let  who  will  be  un- 
fashionable. All  that  fashion  demands  is  composure,  and  self- 
content.  A  circle  of  men  perfectly  well-bred  would  be  a  com- 
pany of  sensible  persons,  in  which  every  man's  native  manners 
and  character  appeared.  If  the  fashion  ist  have  not  this 
quality,  he  is  nothing.  We  are  such  lovers  of  self-reliance, 
that  we  excuse  in  a  man  many  sins,  if  he  will  show  us  a  com- 
plete  satisfaction  in  his  position,  which  asks  no  leave  to  be,  of 
mine,  or  any  man's  good  opinion.  But  any  deference  to  some 
eminent  man  or  woman  of  the  world,  forfeits  all  privilege  of 
nobility.  He  is  an  underling  :  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  ; 
I  will  speak  with  his  master.  A  man  should  not  go  where  he 
cannot  carry  his  whole  sphere  or  society  with  him, — not  bodily, 
the  whole  circle  of  his  friends,  but  atmospherically.  He  should 
preserve  in  a  new  company  the  same  attitude  of  mind  and 
reality  of  relation,  which  his  daily  associates  draw  him  to,  else 
he  is  shorn  of  his  best  beams,  and  will  be  an  orphan  in  the 
merriest  club.  "  If  you  could  see  Vich  Ian  Vohr  with  his  tail 
on  I "  But  Vich  Ian  Vohr  must  always  carry  his  belong- 
ings in  some  fashion,  if  not  added  as  honor,  then  severed  as 
disgrace. 

There  will  always  be  in  society  certain  persons  who  are 
mercuries  of  its  approbation,  and  whose  glance  will  at  any 
time  determine  for  the  curious  their  standing  in  the  world. 
These  are  the  chamberlains  of  the  lesser  gods.  Accept  their 
coldness  as  an  omen  of  grace  with  the  loftier  deities,  and  allow 


12  EMER80&6 

them  all  their  privilege.  They  are  clear  in  their  office,  Me 
could  they  be  thus  formidable,  without  their  own  merits.  But 
do  not  measure  the  importance  of  this  class  by  their  preten? 
sion,  or  imagine  that  a  fop  can  be  the  dispenser  of  honor  and 
shame.  They  pass  also  at  their  just  rate;  for  how  can  they 
otherwise,  in  circles  which  exist  as  a  sort  of  herald's  office  fo? 
the  sifting  of  character  ? 

As  the  first  thing  man  requires  of  man,  is  reality,  so,  that 
appears  in  all  the  forms  of  society.  We  pointedly,  and  by 
name,  introduce  the  parties  to  each  other.  Know  you  before 
all  heaven  and  earth, that  this  is  Andrew,  and  this  is  Gregory; 
—they  look  each  other  in  the  eye ;  they  grasp  each  other's 
hand,  to  identify  and  signalize  each  other.  It  is  a  great  satis- 
faction. A  gentleman  never  dodges  i  his  eyes  look  straight 
forward,  and  he  assures  the  other  party,  first  of  all,  that  he  has 
been  met.  For  what  is  it  that  we  seek,  in  so  many  visits  and 
hospitalities  ?  Is  it  your  draperies,  pictures,  and  decorations  ? 
Or,  do  we  not  insatiably  ask,  Was  a  man  in  the  house  ?  I  may 
easily  go  into  a  great  household  where  there  is  much  substance, 
excellent  provision  for  comfoft,  luxury,  and  taste,  and  yet 
not  encounter  there  any  Amphitryon,  who  shall  subordinate 
these  appendages*  I  may  go  into  a  cottage,  and  find  a  farmer 
who  feels  that  he  is  the  man  I  have  come  to  see,  and  fronts  me 
accordingly*  It  was  therefore  a  very  natural  point  of  old 
feudal  etiquette,  that  a  gentleman  who  received  a  visit,  though 
it  were  of  his  sovereign,  should  not  leave  his  roof,  but  should 
wait  his  arrival  at  the  door  of  his  house.  No  house,  though  it 
were  the  Tuileries,  or  the  Escurial,  is  good  for  anything  with- 
out  a  master.  And  yet  we  are  not  often  gratified  by  this  hos- 
pitality. Every  body  we  know  surrounds  himself  with  a  fine 
house,  fine  books,  conservatory,  gardens,  equipage,  and  all 
manner  of  toys,  as  screens  to  interpose  between  himself  and 
his  guest.  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  man  was  of  a  very  sly,  elu- 
sive nature,  and  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  a  full  rencontre 
front  to  front  with  his  fellow  ?  It  were  unmerciful,  I  know, 
quite  to  abolish  the  use  of  these  screens,  which  are  of  eminent 
convenience,  whether  the  guest  is  too  great,  or  too  little.  We 
call  together  many  friends  who  keep  each  other  in  play,  or,  by 
luxuries  and  ornaments  we  amuse  the  young  people,  and 
guard  our  retirement.  Or  if,  perchance,  a  searching  realist 
comes  to  our  gate,  before  whose  eye  we  have  no  care  to  stand, 
then  again  we  run  to  our  curtain,  and  hide  ourselves  as  Adam 
at  the  voice  of  the  Lord  God  in  the  garden.  Cardinal  Caprara, 
the  Pope's  legate  at  Paris,  defended  himself  from  the  glances 
flf  Mapoleon,  by  an  immense  Dair  of  green  spectacles.  Napo 


MANNEB&  & 

»eon  remarked  them,  and  speedily  managed  to  rally  them  off: 
and  yet  Napoleon,  in  his  turn,  was  not  great  enough  with 
eight  hundred  thousand  troops  at  his  back,  to  face  a  pair  of 
freeborn  eyes,  but  fenced  himself  with  etiquette,  and  within 
triple  barriers  of  reserve  :  and,  as  all  the  world  knows  from 
Madame  de  Stael,  was  wont,  when  he  found  himself  observed, 
to  discharge  his  face  of  all  expression.  But  emperors  and  rich 
men  are  by  no  means  the  most  skilful  masters  of  good  manners. 
No  rent-roll  nor  army-list  can  dignify  dkulking  and  dissimula- 
tion :  and  the  first  point  of  courtesy  must  always  be  truth,  as 
really  all  the  forms  of  good-breeding  point  that  way. 

I  have  just  been  reading,  in  Mr.  Hazlitt's  translation,  Mon. 
taigne's  account  of  his  journey  into  Italy,  and  am  struck  with 
nothing  more  agreeably  than  the  self-respecting  fashions  of  the 
time.  His  arrival  in  each  place,  the  arrival  of  a  gentleman  of 
France,  is  an  event  of  some  consequence.  Wherever  he  goes, 
he  pays  a  visit  to  whatever  prince  or  gentleman  of  note  resides 
upon  his  road,  as  a  duty  to  himself  and  to  civilization.  When 
he  leaves  any  house  in  which  he  has  lodged  for  a  few  weeks,  he 
causes  his  arms  to  be  painted  and  hung  up  as  a  perpetual  sign 
to  the  house  as  was  the  custom  of  gentlemen. 

The  complement  of  this  graceful  self-respect,  and  that  of  all 
the  points  of  good-breeding  I  most  require  and  insist  upon,  is 
deference.  I  like  that  every  chair  should  be  a  throne,  and 
hold  a  king.  I  prefer  a  tendency  to  stateliness,  to  an  excess 
of  fellowship.  Let  the  incommunicable  objects  of  nature  and 
the  metaphysical  isolation  of  man  teach  us  independence.  Let 
us  not  be  too  much  acquainted.  I  would  have  a  man  enter  his 
house  through  a  hall  filled  with  heroic  and  sacred  sculptures, 
that  he  might  not  want  the  hint  of  tranquillity  and  self-poise. 
We  should  meet  each  morning,  as  from  foreign  countries,  and 
spending  the  day  together,  should  depart  at  night,  as  into 
foreign  countries.  In  all  things  I  would  have  the  island  of  a 
man  inviolate.  Let  us  sit  apart  as  the  gods,  talking  from  peak 
to  peak  all  round  Olympus.  No  degree  of  affection  nn-d  in- 
vade this  religion.  This  is  myrrh  and  rosemary  to  keep  the 
other  sweet.  Lovers  should  guard  their  strangeness.  If  they 
forgive  too  much,  all  slides  into  confusion  and  meanness.  It 
is  easy  to  push  this  deference  to  a  Chinese  etiquette ;  but  cool' 
ness  and  absence  of  heat  and  haste  indicate  fine  qualities.  A 
gentleman  makes  no  noise :  a  lady  is  serene.  Proportionate  !• 
our  disgust  at  those  invaders  who  fill  a  studious  house  with 
blast  and  running,  to  secure  some  paltry  convenience.  Not 
less  I  dislike  a  low  sympathy  of  each  with  his  neighbor's 
needs.  Must  we  have  a  good  understanding  with  one  aiv 


*|  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS- 

other's  palates?  as  foolish  people  who  have  Iwred  long  to» 
gether,  know  when  each  wants  salt  or  sugar.  I  pray  my  com- 
panion, if  he  wishes  for  bread,  to  ask  me  for  bread,  and  if  he 
wishes  for  sassafras  or  arsenic,  to  ask  me  for  them,  and  not  to 
hold  out  his  plate,  as  if  I  knew  already.  Every  natural  func- 
tion can  be  dignified  by  deliberation  and  privacy.  Let  us 
leave  hurry  to  slaves.  The  compliments  and  ceremonies  of 
our  breeding  should  signify,  however  remotely,  the  recollec 
tion  of  the  grandeur  of  our  destiny. 

The  flower  of  courtesy  does  not  very  well  bide  handling,  but 
if  we  dare  to  open  another  leaf,  and  explore  what  parts  go  to 
its  conformation,  we  shall  find  also  an  intellectual  quality.  To 
the  leaders  of  men,  the  brain  as  well  as  the  flesh  and  the  heart 
must  furnish  a  proportion.  Defect  in  manners  is  usually  the 
defect  of  fine  perceptions.  Men  are  too  coarsely  made  for  the 
delicacy  of  beautiful  carriage  and  customs.  It  is  not  quite 
sufficient  to  good-breeding,  a  union  of  kindness  and  independ- 
ence. We  imperatively  require  a  perception  of,  and  a  homage 
to  beauty  in  our  companions.  Other  virtues  are  in  request  in 
the  field  and  workyard,  but  a  certain  degree  of  taste  is  not  to 
be  spared  in  those  we  sit  with.  I  could  better  eat  with  one 
who  did  not  respect  the  truth  or  the  laws,  than  with  a  sloven 
and  unpresentable  person.  Moral  qualities  rule  the  world,  but 
at  short  distances,  the  senses  are  despotic.  The  same  discrim- 
ination of  fit  and  fair  runs  out,  if  with  less  rigor,  into  all  parts 
of  life.  The  average  spirit  of  the  energetic  class  is  good  sense, 
acting  under  certain  limitations  and  to  certain  ends.  It  enter- 
tains  every  natural  gift.  Social  in  its  nature,  it  respects 
everything  which  tends  to  unite  men.  It  delights  in  measure. 
The  love  of  beauty  is  mainly  the  love  of  measure  or  propor- 
tion. The  person  who  screams,  or  uses  the  superlative  de- 
gree, or  converses  with  heat,  puts  whole  drawing-rooms  to 
flight.  If  you  wish  to  be  loved,  love  measure.  You  must 
have  genius,  or  a  prodigious  usefulness,  if  you  will  hide  the 
want  f  measure.  This  perception  comes  in  to  polish  and  per- 
fect the  parts  of  the  social  instrument.  Society  will  pardon 
much  to  genius  and  special  gifts,  but,  being  in  its  nature  a 
convention,  it  loves  what  is  conventional,  or  what  belongs  to 
coming  together.  That  makes  the  good  and  bad  of  manners, 
namely,  what  helps  or  hinders  fellowship.  For,  fashion  is  not 
good  sense  absolute,  but  relative  ;  not  good  sense  private,  but 
good  sense  entertaining  company.  It  hates  corners  and  sharp 
points  f  character,  hates  quarrelsome,  egotistical,  solitary, 
and  gloomy  people ;  hates  whatever  can  interfere  with  total 
blending  of  parties :  whilst  it  values  all  peculiarities  as  in  th« 


HANNERS.  .3, 

highest  degree  refreshing,  which  can  consist  with  good  fellow- 
ship.  And  besides  the  general  infusion  of  wit  to  heighten 
Civility,  the  direct  splendor  of  intellectual  power  is  ever  wel- 
come  in  fine  society  as  the  costliest  addition  to  its  rule  and  its 
credit. 

The  dry  light  must  shuie  in  to  adorn  our  festival,  but  it 
must  be  tempered  and  shaded,  or  that  will  also  offend.  Ac 
curacy  is  essential  to  beauly,  and  quick  perceptions  to  polite 
ness,  but  not  too  quick  perceptions.  One  may  be  too  punctual 
and  too  precise.  He  must  leave  the  omniscience  of  business  at 
the  door,  when  he  comes  into  the  palace  of  beauty.  Society 
loves  Creole  natures,  and  sle«py,  languishing  manners,  so  that 
they  cover  sense,  grace,  and  good-will ;  the  air  of  drows> 
strength,  which  disarms  criticism  ;  perhaps,  because  such  a 
person  seems  to  reserve  himwelf  for  the  best  of  the  game,  and 
not  spend  himself  on  surfaces ;  an  ignoring  eye,  which  does 
not  see  the  annoyances,  shifts,  and  inconveniences,  that  cloud 
the  brow  and  smother  the  voice  of  the  sensitive. 

Therefore,  besides  personal  force  and  so  much  perception  as 
constitutes  unerring  taste,  society  demands  in  its  patrician 
class,  another  element  already  intimated,  which  it  significantly 
terms  good-nature,  expressing  all  degrees  of  generosity,  from 
the  lowest  willingness  and  faculty  to  oblige,  up  to  the  heights 
of  magnanimity  and  love.  Insight  we  must  have,  or  we  shall 
run  against  one  another,  and  miss  the  way  to  our  food ;  but 
intellect  is  selfish  and  barren.  The  secret  of  success  in  soci- 
ety, is  a  certain  heartiness  and  sympathy.  A  man  who  is  not 
happy  in  the  company,  cannot  find  any  word  in  his  memory 
that  will  fit  the  occasion.  All  his  information  is  a  little  im- 
pertinent. A  man  who  is  happy  there,  finds  in  every  turn  of 
the  conversation  equally  lucky  occasions  for  the  introduction 
of  that  which  he  has  to  say.  The  favorites  of  society,  and 
what  it  calls  whole  souls,  are  able  men,  and  of  more  spirit  than 
wit,  who  have  no  uncomfortable  egotism,  but  who  exactly  fill 
the  hour  and  the  company,  contented  and  contenting,  at  a 
marriage  or  a  funeral,  a  ball  or  a  jury,  a  water-party  or  a 
shooting-match.  England,  which  is  rich  in  gentlemen,  fur- 
nished, in  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  a  good  model 
of  that  genius  which  the  world  loves,  in  Mr.  Fox,  who  added 
to  his  great  abilities  the  most  social  disposition,  and  real  love 
of  men.  Parliamentary  history  has  few  better  passages  than 
the  debate,  in  which  Burke  and  Fox  separated  in  the  House  of 
Commons  ;  when  Fox  urged  on  his  old  friend  the  claims  of  old 
friendship  with  such  tenderness,  that  the  housr  was  moved  to 
*<ears.  Another  anecdote  is  soqlose.  to  my  matter,  that  I 


*  EMERSON'S  S68AYB. 

hazard  the  story.  A  tradesman  who  had  long  dunned  him  tot 
a  note  of  three  hundred  guineas,  found  him  one  day  counting 
gold,  and  demanded  payment :  "  No,"  said  Fox,  "  I  owe  thia 
money  to  Sheridan  ;  it  is  a  debt  of  honor  :  if  an  accident 
should  happen  to  me,  he  has  nothing  to  show."  "  Then,"  said 
the  creditor,  "  I  change  my  debt  into  a  debt  of  honor,"  and 
tore  the  note  in  pieces.  Fox  thanked  the  man  for  his  confi- 
dence, and  paid  him,  saying,  "  his  debt  was  of  older  standing, 
and  Sheridan  must  wait."  Lover  of  liberty,  friend  of  the  Hin» 
cloo,  friend  of  the  African  slave,  he  possessed  a  great  personal 
popularity  ;  and  Napoleon  said  of  him  on  the  occasion  of  his 
visit  to  Paris,  in  1805,  "  Mr.  Fox  will  always  hold  the  first 
place  in  an  assembly  at  the  Tuileries." 

We  may  easily  seem  ridiculous  in  our  eulogy  of  courtesy  t 
whenever  we  insist  on  benevolence  as  its  foundation.  The 
painted  phantasm  Fashion  rises  to  cast  a  species  of  derision 
on  what  we  say.  But  I  will  neither  be  driven  from  some  al- 
lowance to  Fashion  as  a  symbolic  institution,  nor  from  the 
belief  that  love  is  the  basis  of  courtesy.  We  must  obtain 
that,  if  we  can  ;  but  by  all  means  we  must  affirm  this.  Life 
owes  much  of  its  spirit  to  these  sharp  contrasts.  Fashion 
Which  affects  to  be  honor,  is  often,  in  all  men's  experience^ 
only  a  ballroom-code.  Yet,  so  long  as  it  is  the  highest  circle^ 
In  the  imagination  of  the  best  heads  on  the  planet,  there  is 
something  necessary  and  excellent  in  it ;  for  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  men  have  agreed  to  be  the  dupes  of  anything 
preposterous ;  and  the  respect  which  these  mysteries  inspire 
in  the  most  rude  and  sylvan  characters,  and  the  curiosity 
with  which  details  of  high  life  are  read,  betray  the  universal- 
ity of  the  love  of  cultivated  manners.  I  know  that  a  comio 
disparity  would  be  felt,  if  we  should  enter  the  acknowledged 
1  first  circles,'  and  apply  these  terrific  standards  of  justice, 
beauty,  and  benefit,  to  the  individuals  actually  found  there. 
Monarchs  and  heroes,  sages  and  lovers,  these  gallants  are  not 
Fashion  has  many  classes  and  many  rules  of  probation  and 
admission  ;  and  not  the  best  alone.  There  \s  not  only  the 
right  of  conquest,  which  genius  pretends, — the  individual, 
demonstrating  his  natural  aristocracy  best  of  the  best ; — but 
less  claims  will  pass  for  the  time;  for  Fashion  loves  lions,  and 
points,  like  Circe,  to  her  horned  company.  This  gentleman 
is  this  afternoon  arrived  from  Denmark  ;  and  that  is  my  Lord 
Ride,  who  came  yesterday  from  Bagdat;  here  is  Captain 
Friese,  from  Cape  Turnagain ;  and  Captain  Symmes,  from  the 
interior  of  the  earth;  and  Monsieur  Jovaire,  who  came  down 
this  morning  in  a  balloon  i  Mr.  Hobnail,  the  reformer  j  and 


MANNEB&  ^ 

Reverend  Jul  Bat,  who  has  converted  the  whole  torrid  zone 
In  his  Sunday-school ;  and  Signor  Torre  del  Greco,  who  ex- 
tinguished Vesuvius  by  pouring  into  it  the  Bay  of  Naples  ; 
Spahi,  the  Persian  ambassador ;  and  Tul  Wil  Shan,  the  exiled 
nabob  of  Nepaul,  whose  saddle  is  the  new  moon. — But  these 
are  monsters  of  one  day,  and  to-morrow  will  be  dismissed  to 
their  holes  and  dens ;  for,  in  these  rooms,  every  chair  is 
waited  for.  The  artist,  the  scholar,  and,  in  general,  the 
clerisy,  wins  its  way  up  into  these  places,  and  gets  repre- 
sented here,  somewhat  on  this  footing  of  conquest.  Another 
mode  is  to  pass  through  all  the  degrees,  spending  a  year  and 
a  day  in  St.  Michael's  Square,  being  steeped  in  Cologne 
water,  and  perfumed,  and  dined,  and  introduced,  and  properly 
grounded  in  all  the  biography,  and  politics,  aud  anecdotes  of 
the  boudoirs. 

Yet  these  fineries  may  have  grace  and  wit.  Let  there  DO 
grotesque  sculpture  about  the  gates  and  offices  of  temples. 
Let  the  creed  and  commandments  even  have  the  saucy  hom- 
age of  parody.  The  forms  of  politeness  universally  express 
benevolence  in  superlative  degrees.  What  if  they  are  in  the 
mouths  of  selfish  men,  and  used  as  means  of  selfishness? 
What  if  the  false  gentleman  almost  bows  the  true  out  of  the 
world  ?  What  if  the  false  gentleman  contrives  so  to  address 
his  companion,  as  civilly  to  exclude  all  others  from  bis  dis- 
course, and  also  to  make  them  feel. excluded?  Real  service 
will  not  lose  its  nobleness.  All  generosity  is  not  merely 
French  and  sentimental ;  nor  is  it  to  be  concealed,  that  living 
blood  and  a  passion  of  kindness  does  at  last  distinguish  God's 
gentleman  from  Fashion1-}.  The  epitaph  of  Sir  Jeukin  Grout 
is  not  wholly  unintelligible  to  the  present  age.  "  Here  lies 
Sir  Jenkin  Grout,  who  loved  his  friend,  and  persuaded  his  en- 
emy :  what  his  mouth  ate,  his  hand  paid  for :  what  his  serv. 
ants  robbed,  he  restored :  if  a  woman  gave  him  pleasure,  he 
supported  her  in  pain :  he  never  forgot  his  children  :  and 
whoso  touched  his  finger,  drew  after  it  his  whole  body."  Even 
the  line  of  heroes  is  not  utterly  extinct.  There  is  still  rv»-r 
some  admirable  person  in  plain  clothes,  standing  on  the  \vliarf, 
who  jumps  in  to  rescue  a  drowning  man;  there  is  still  some 
absurd  inventor  of  charities ;  some  guide  and  comforter  of 
runaway  slaves;  some  friend  of  Poland;  some  Phillu-llone ; 
some  fanatic  who  plants  shade-trees  for  the  second  and  third 
generation,  and  orchards  when  he  is  grown  old;  M>H 
concealed  piety;  some  just  man  happy  in  an  ill-lame;  some 
youth  ashamed  of  the  favors  of  fortune,  and  impatiently  cast- 
ing  them  on  other  wioulders.  And  these  are  the  centre*  of 


IB  EMEESON'S  ESSAYS. 

society,  on  which  it  returns  for  fresh  impulses.  These  are  tha 
creators  of  Fashion,  which  is  an  attempt  to  organize  beauty 
of  behavior.  The  beautiful  and  the  generous  are,  in  the 
theory,  the  doctors  and  apostles  of  this  church  :  Scipio,  and 
the  Cid,  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  Washington,  and  every 
pure  and  valiant  heart,  who  worshipped  Beauty  by  word  and 
by  deed.  The  persons  who  constitute  the  natural  aristocracy, 
are  not  found  in  the  actual  aristocracy,  or,  only  on  its  edge  •, 
as  the  chemical  energy  of  the  spectrum  is  found  to  be  great- 
est just  outside  of  the  spectrum.  Yet  that  is  the  infirmity 
of  the  seneschals,  who  do  not  know  their  sovereign,  when  he 
appears.  The  theory  of  society  supposes  the  existence  and 
sovereignty  of  these.  It  divines  afar  off  their  coming.  It 
«ays  with  the  elder  gods, — 

"  As  Heaven  and  Earth  are  fairer  far 
Than  Chaos  and  blank  Darkness,  though  once  chiefs  | 
And  as  we  show  beyond  that  Heaven  and  Earth, 
In  form  and  shape  compact  and  beautiful; 
So,  on  our  heels  a  fresh  perfection  treads; 
A  power,  more  strong  in  beauty,  born  of  us, 
And  fated  to  excel  us,  as  we  pass 
In  glory  that  old  Darkness : 

for,  'tis  the  eternal  law, 

That  first  in  beauty  shall  be  first  in  might." 

Therefore,  within  the  ethnical  circle  of  good  society,  there 
£»  a  narrower  and  higher  circle,  concentration  of  its  light,  and 
flower  of  courtesy,  to  which  there  is  always  a  tacit  appeal  of 
pride  and  reference,  as  to  its  inner  and  imperial  court,  the 
parliament  of  love  and  chivalry.  And  this  is  constituted  of 
those  persons  in  whom  heroic  dispositions  are  native,  with  the 
love  of  beauty,  the  delight  in  society,  and  the  power  to  em- 
bellish the  passing  day.  If  the  individuals  who  compose  the 
purest  circles  of  aristocracy  in  Europe,  the  guarded  blood  of 
centuries,  should  pass  in  review,  in  such  manner  as  that  we 
could,  at  leisure,  and  critically  inspect  their  behavior,  we 
might  find  no  gentleman,  and  no  lady  ;  for,  although  excellent 
specimens  of  courtesy  and  high-breeding  would  gratify  us  in 
the  assemblage,  in  the  particulars,  we  should  detect  offence. 
Because,  elegance  comes  of  no  breeding,  but  of  birth.  There 
must  be  romance  of  character,  or  the  most  fastidious  exclu- 
sion of  impertinencies  will  not  avail.  It  must  be  genius 
which  takes  that  direction  :  it  must  be  not  courteous,  but 
courtesy.  High  behavior  is  as  rare  in  fiction,  as  it  is  in  fact. 
Scott  is  praised  for  the  fidelity  with  which  he  painted  the  de- 
meanor and  conversation  of  the  superior  classes.  Certainly., 
fctags  and  queens,  uob'es  and  great  ladies,  had  some  right  to 


MANNERS.  79 

Complain  of  the  absurdity  that  had  been  put  in  their  mouths 
before  the  days  of  Waverley  ;  but  neither  does  Scott's  dia- 
logue bear  criticism.  His  lords  brave  each  other  in  smart 
epigrammatic  speeches,  but  the  dialogue  is  in  costume,  and 
does  not  please  on  the  second  reading :  it  is  not  warm  with 
life.  In  Shakspeare  alone,  the  speakers  do  not  strut  and 
bridle,  the  dialogue  is  easily  great,  and  he  adds  to  so  many 
titles  that  of  being  the  best-bred  man  in  England,  and  in 
Christendom.  Once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime  we  are  permitted 
to  enjoy  the  charm  of  noble  manners,  in  the  presence  of  a  man 
or  woman  who  have  no  bar  in  their  nature,  but  whose  char- 
acter  emanates  freely  in  their  word  and  gesture.  A  beautiful 
form  is  better  than  a  beautiful  face ;  a  beautiful  behavior  is 
better  than  a  beautiful  form  :  it  gives  a  higher  pleasure  than 
statues  or  pictures  ;  it  is  the  finest  of  the  fine  arts.  A  man  is 
but  a  little  thing  in  the  midst  of  the  objects  of  nature,  yet,  by 
the  moral  quality  radiating  from  his  countenance,  he  may 
abolish  all  considerations  of  magnitude,  and  in  his  manners 
equal  the  majesty  of  the  world.  I  have  seen  an  individual, 
whose  manners,  though  wholly  within  the  conventions  of  ele- 
gant society,  were  never  learned  there,  but  were  original  and 
commanding,  and  held  out  protection  and  prosperity ;  one 
who  did  not  need  the  aid  of  a  court-suit,  but  carried  the  holi- 
day in  his  eye ;  who  exhilarated  the  fancy  by  flinging  wide 
the  doors  of  new  modes  of  existence  ;  who  shook  off  the  cap. 
tivity  of  etiquette,  with  happy,  spirited  bearing,  good-natured 
and  free  as  Robin  Hood  ;  yet  with  the  port  of  an  emperor, — 
if  need  be,  calm,  serious,  and  fit  to  stand  the  gaze  of  millions. 
The  open  air  and  the  fields,  the  street  and  public  chambers, 
are  the  places  where  Man  executes  his  will ;  let  him  yield  or 
divide  the  sceptre  at  the  door  of  the  house.  Woman,  with  her 
instinct  of  behavior,  instantly  detects  in  man  a  love  of  trifles, 
and  coldness  or  imbecility,  or,  in  short,  any  want  of  that 
large,  flowing,  and  magnanimous  deportment,  which  is  indis- 
pensable as  an  exterior  in  the  hall.  Our  American  institu- 
tions have  been  friendly  to  her,  and  at  this  moment,  I  esteem 
it  a  chief  felicity  of  this  country,  that  it  excels  in  women.  A 
certain  awkward  consciousness  of  inferiority  in  the  men,  may 
give  rise  to  the  new  chivalry  in  behalf  of  "Woman's  Hights. 
Certainly,  let  her  be  as  much  better  placed  in  the  laws  and  in 
social  forms,  as  the  most  zealous  reformer  can  ask,  but  I  con- 
fide so  entirely  in  her  inspiring  and  musical  nature,  that  I  be- 
lieve  only  herself  can  show  us  how  she  shall  be  served.  The 
wonderful  generosity  of  her  sentiments  raises  her  at  times  into 
heroical  and  godlike  regions,  and  verifies  the  pictures  of 


ES8AT& 

Minerva,  Juno,  or  Polymnia  ;  and,  by  the  firmness  with  which 
she  treads  her  upward  path,  she  convinces  the  coarsest  calcu- 
lators that  another  road  exists,  than  that  which  their  feet 
know.  But  besides  those  who  make  good  in  our  imagination 
the  place  of  muses  and  of  Pelphic  Sibyls,  are  there  not 
ffomeu  who  fill  our  vase  with  wine  and  roses  to  the  brim,  so 
{hat  the  wine  runs  over  and  fills  the  house  with  perfume; 
tfho  inspire  us  with  courtesy  ;  who  unloose  our  tongues,  and 
^ye  speak  ;  who  anoint  our  eyes,  and  we  see  ?  We  say  things 
'•re  never  thought  to  have  said  ;  for  once,  our  walls  of  habit- 
;:al  reserve  vanished,  and  left  us  at  large ;  we  were  childrea 
playing  with  children  in  a  wide  field  of  fiowers.  Steep  us,  we 
cried,  in  these  influences,  for  days,  for  weeks,  and  we  shall  be 
sunny  poets,  and  will  write  out  in  many-colored  words  the 
romance  that  you  are.  Was  it  Hafiz  or  Firdousi  that  said  oi 
his  Persian  Lilla,  She  was  an  elemental  force,  and  astonished 
me  by  her  amount  of  life,  when  I  saw  her  day  after  day  radi- 
ating, every  instant,  redundant  joy  and  grace  on  all  around 
her.  She  was  a  solvent  powerful  to  reconcile  all  heterogene- 
ous persons  into  one  society  :  like  air  or  water,  an  element  of 
such  a  great  range  of  affinities,  that  it  combines  readily  with 
a  thousand  substances.  Where  she  is  present,  all  others  will 
be  more  than  they  are  wont.  She  was  a  unit  and  whole,  so 
that  whatsoever  she  did,  became  her.  She  had  too  much  sym- 
pathy and  desire  to  please,  than  that  you  could  say,  her  man- 
ners were  marked  with  dignity,  yet  no  princess  could  surpass 
her  clear  and  erect  demeanor  on  each  occasion.  She  did  not 
study  the  Persian  grammar,  nor  the  books  of  the  seven  poets, 
but  all  the  poems  o.  the  seven  seemed  to  be  written  upon  her, 
For,  though  the  bias  r :'  her  nature  was  not  to  thought,  but  to 
sympathy,  }*et  was  she  so  perfect  in  her  own  nature,  as  to 
meet  intellectual  persons  by  the  fulness  of  her  heart,  warm- 
ing them  by  her  sentiments ;  believing,  as  she  did,  that  by 
dealing  nobly  with  all,  all  would  show  themselves  noble. 

I  know  that  this  Byzantine  pile  of  chivalry  or  Fashion, 
which  seems  so  fair  and  picturesque  to  those  who  look  at  the 
contemporary  facts  for  science  or  for  entertainment,  is  not 
equally  pleasant  to  all  spectators.  The  constitution  of  our 
society  makes  it  a  giant's  castle  to  the  ambitious  youth  who 
have  not  found  their  names  enrolled  in  its  Golden 'Book,  and 
whom  it  has  excluded  from  its  coveted  honors  and  privileges. 
They  have  yet  to  le",i-n  that  its  seeming  grandeur  is  shadowy 
and  relative :  it  is  gr,^at  by  their  allowance  :  its  proudest  gates 
will  fly  open  at  the  approach  of  their  courage  and  virtue. 


MANNKhh.  m 

For  the  present  distress,  however,  of  those  who  are  predis- 
posed to  suffer  from  the  tyrannies  of  this  caprice,  there  are 
easy  remedies.  To  remove  your  residence  a  couple  of  miles, 
or  at  most  four,  will  commonly  relieve  the  most  extreme  sus- 
ceptibility. For,  the  advantages  which  fashion  values,  »re 
plants  which  thrive  in  very  confined  localities,  in  a  ft-w  streets, 
namely.  Out  of  this  precinct,  they  go  for  nothing ;  are  of  na 
use  in  the  farm,  in  the  forest,  in  the  market,  in  vr.r,  in  the 
nuptial  society,  in  the  literary  or  scientific  circle,  r.t  sea,  in 
Mendslup,  in  the  heaven  of  thought  or  virtue. 

But  we  have  lingered  long  enough  in  these  painted  courtt 
The  worth  of  the  thing  signified  must  vindicate  our  taste  fo\ 
the  emblem.  Everything  that  is  called  feshion  and  courtesy 
humbles  itself  before  the  cause  and  fountain  of  honor,  creator 
of  titles  and  dignities,  namely,  the  heart  of  love.  This  is  the 
royal  blood,  this  the  fire,  which,  in  all  countries  and  contin- 
gencies, will  work  after  its  kind,  and  conquer  and  expand  all 
that  approaches  it.  This  gives  new  meanings  to  every  fact. 
This  impoverishes  the  rich,  suffering  no  grandeur  but  its  own. 
What  is  rich?  Are  3Tou  rich  enough  to  help  anybody?  to 
succor  the  unfashionable  and  the  eccentric  ?  rich  enough  to 
make  the  Canadian  in  his  wagon,  the  itinerant  with  his  con- 
sul's paper  which  commends  him  "  To  the  charitable,"  the 
swarthy  Italian  with  his  few  broken  words  of  English,  the 
lame  pauper  hunted  by  overseers  from  town  to  town,  even  the 
poor  insane  or  besotted  wreck  of  man  or  woman,  feel  the  noble 
exception  of  your  presence  and  your  house,  from  the  general 
bleakness  and  stoniness ;  to  make  such  feel  that  they  were 
greeted  with  a  voice  which  made  them  both  remember  and 
hope  ?  What  is  vulgar,  but  to  refuse  the  claim  on  acute  and 
conclusive  reasons?  What  is  gentle,  but  to  allow  it,  and  give 
their  heart  and  yours  one  holiday  from  the  national  cnutio.i? 
Without  the  rich  heart,  wealth  is  an  ugly  beggar.  The  king 
of  Schiraz  could  not  afford  to  be  so  bountiful  as  the  poor  Os- 
man  who  dwelt  at  his  gate.  Osman  had  a  humanity  so  broad 
and  deep,  that  although  his  speech  was  so  bold  and  free  with 
the  Koran,  as  to  disgust  all  the  dervishes,  yet  was  there  never 
a  poor  outcast,  eccentric,  or  insane  man,  some  fool  who  had  cut 
off  his  beard,  or  who  had  been  mutilated  under  a  vow,  or  had 
a  pet  madness  in  his  brain,  but  fled  at  once  to  him, — that  great 
heart  lay  there  so  sunny  and  hospitable  in  the  centre  of  the 
country, — that  it  seemed  as  if  the  instinct  of  all  sufferers  c*rew 
them  to  his  side.  And  the  madness  which  he  harbored,  he  did 
not  share.  Is  not  this  to  bt  rich  ?  this  only  to  be  rijiKly 
rich? 


tt  SMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

But  I  shall  hear  without  pain,  that  I  play  the  courtier  very 
111,  and  talk  of  that  which  I  do  not  "veil  understand.  It  is 
easy  to  see,  that  what  is  called  by  distinction  society  and 
fashion,  has  good  laws  as  well  as  bad,  bas  much  that  is  neces- 
sary, and  much  that  is  absurd.  Too  good  for  banning,  and 
too  bad  for  blessing,  it  reminds  us  of  a  tradition  of  the  pagan 
mythology,  in  any  attempt  to  settle  its  character.  '  I  over- 
heard Jove,  one  day,'  said  Silenus, '  talking  of  destroying  the 
earth  ;  he  said,  it  bad  failed  ;  they  were  all  rogues  and  vixens, 
who  went  from  bad  to  worse,  as  fast  as  the  days  succeeded 
each  other.  Minerva  said,  she  hoped  not ;  they  were  only 
ridiculous  little  creatures,  with  this  odd  circumstance,  that 
they  had  a  blur,  or  indeterminate  aspect,  seen  far  or  seen  near ; 
if  you  called  them  bad,  they  would  appear  so ;  if  you  called 
them  good,  they  would  appear  so ;  and  there  wr s  no  one  per- 
son or  action  among  them,  which  would  not  pi  ^zle  her  owl, 
much  more  all  Olympus,  to  know  whether  it  vf  s  fundamen- 
tally bad  or  good.' 


OIPTJS. 


<3ifts  of  one  who  loved  me,— 
»T  was  high  time  they  came ; 
When  he  ceased  to  love  me, 
Time  they  stopped  for  shame. 


ESSAY  V. 
GIFTS. 


IT  is  said  that  the  world  is  in  a  state  of  bankruptcy  that 
the  world  owes  the  world  more  than  the  world  can  pay,  and 
ought  to  go  into  chancery,  and  be  sold.  I  do  not  think  this 
general  insolvency ,  which  involves  in  some  sort  all  the  popula- 
tion, to  be  the  reason  of  the  difficulty  experienced  at  Christ- 
mas  and  New  Year,  and  other  times,  in  bestowing  gifts ;  since 
it  is  always  so  pleasant  to  be  generous,  though  very  vexatious 
to  pay  debts.  But  the  impediment  lies  in  the  choosing.  If, 
at  any  time,  it  comes  into  my  head,  that  a  present  is  due  from 
me  to  somebody,  I  am  puzzled  what  to  give,  until  the  oppor- 
tunity is  gone.  Flowers  and  fruits  are  always  fit  presents 
flowers,  because  they  are  a  proud  assertion  that  a  ray  of  beauty 
outvalues  all  the  utilities  of  the  world.  These  gay  natures 
contrast  with  the  somewhat  stern  countenance  of  ordinary 
nature  :  they  are  like  music  heard  out  of  a  work-house.  Na- 
ture does  not  cocker  us  :  we  are  children,  not  pets  :  she  is  not 
fond :  everything  is  dealt  to  us  without  fear  or  favor,  after 
severe  universal  laws  Yet  these  delicate  flowers  look  like  the 
frolic  and  interference  of  love  and  beauty.  Men  use  to  tell  us 
that  we  love  flattery,  even  though  we  are  not  deceived  by  it, 
because  it  shows  that  we  are  of  importance  enough  to  be 
courted.  Something  like  that  pleasure,  the  flowers  give  us : 
what  am  I  to  whom  these  sweet  hints  are  addressed  ?  Fruits 
,ire  acceptable  gifts,  because  they  are  the  flower  of  commodities, 
,,nd  admit  of  fantastic  values  being  attached  to  them.  If  a 
man  should  send  to  me  to  come  a  hundred  miles  to  visit  him, 
and  should  set  before  me  a  basket  of  fine  summer-fruit,  I  should 
think  there  was  some  proportion  between  the  labor  and  the 
reward. 

For  common  gifts,  necessity  makes  pertinences  and  beauty 
every  da}r,  and  one  is  glad  when  an  imperative  leaves  him  no 
option,  since  if  the  man  at  the  door  have  no  shoes,  you  have 
not  to  consider  whether  you  could  procure  him  a  paint-lx.x. 
And  ns  it  is  always  pleasing  to  see  a  man  eat  bread,  or  drink 
water,  in  the  ho"»e  or  out  of  :loors,  so  it  is  always  a  great  satii- 


8t  EMERSON'S  ESSAY& 

faction  to  supply  these  first  wants.  Necessity  does  everything 
well.  In  our  condition  of  universal  dependence,  it  seen*? 
heroic  to  let  the  petitioner  be  the  judge  of  his  necessity,  ancl  *,c 
give  all  that  is  asked,  though  at  great  inconvenience.  If  it  >c 
a  fantastic  desire,  it  is  better  to  leave  to  others  the  office  of 
punishing  him.  I  can  think  of  many  parts  I  should  prefet 
playing  to  that  of  the  Furies.  Next  to  things  of  necessity. 
the  rule  for  a  gift,  which  one  of  my  friends  prescribed,  is,  that 
we  might  convey  to  some  person  that  which  properly  belonged 
to  his  character,  and  was  easily  associated  with  him  in  thooght. 
But  our  tokens  of  compliment  and  love  are  for  the  most  part 
barbarous.  Rings  and  other  jewels  a*e  not  gifts,  but  apologies 
for  gifts.  The  only  gift  is  a  portion  of  thyself.  Thou  must 
bleed  for  me.  Therefore  the  poet  brings  his  poem ;  the  shep- 
herd, his  lamb ;  the  farmer,  corn ;  the  miner,  a  gem  ;  the 
sailor,  coral  and  shells ;  the  painter,  his  picture ;  the  girl,  a 
handkerchief  of  her  own  sewing.  This  is  right  and  pleasing, 
for  it  restores  society  in  so  far  to  its  primary  basis,  when  a 
man's  biography  is  conveyed  in  his  gift,  and  every  man's 
wealth  is  an  index  of  his  merit.  But  it  is  a  cold,  lifeless  busi-. 
ness  when  you  go  to  the  shops  to  buy  me  something,  which 
does  not  represent  your  life  and  talent,  but  a  goldsmith's. 
This  is  fit  for  kings,  and  rich  men  who  represent  kings,  and 
a  false  state  of  property,  to  make  presents  of  gold  and  silver 
stuffs,  as  a  kind  of  symbolical  sin-offering,  or  payment  of  black- 
mail. 

The  law  of  benefits  is  a  difficult  channel,  which  requires 
careful  sailing,  or  rude  boats.  It  is  not  the  office  of  a  man  to 
receive  gifts.  How  dare  you  give  them  ?  We  wish  to  be  self- 
sustained.  We  do  not  quite  forgive  a  giver.  The  hand  that 
feeds  us  is  in  some  danger  of  being  bitten.  We  can  receive 
anything  from  love,  for  that  is  a  way  of  receiving  it  from  our- 
selves ;  but  not  from  any  one  who  assumes  to  bestow.  We 
sometimes  hate  the  meat  which  we  eat,  because  there  seems 
something  of  degrading  dependence  in  living  by  it. 

"  Brother,  if  Jove  to  thee  a  present  make, 
Take  heed  that  from  bis  hands  thou  nothing  take." 

We  ask  the  whole.  Nothing  less  will  content  ug.  We  arraign 
society,  if  it  do  not  give  us  besides  earth,  and  fire,  and  water, 
opportunity,  love,  reverence,  and  objects  of  veneration. 

He  is  a  good  man,  who  can  receive  a  gift  well.  We  are 
either  glad  or  sorry  at  a  gift,  and  both  emotions  are  unbecom- 
ing. Some  violence,  I  think,  is  done,  some  degradation 
borne,  when  I  rejoice  or  grieve  at  a  eift.  I  am  sorry  when 


OIFfS.  (rj 

my  independence  is  invaded,  or  when  a  gift  comes  from  such 
as  dp  not  know  my  spirit,  and  so  the  act  is  not  supported ; 
and  if  the  gift  pleases  me  overmuch,  then  I  should  be  ashamed 
that  the  donor  should  read  my  heart,  and  see  that  I  love  his 
commodity,  and  not  him.  The  gift,  to  be  true,  must  be  the 
flowing  of  the  giver  unto  me,  correspondent  to  my  flowing 
unto  him.  When  the  waters  arc  at  level,  then  my  goods  pass 
to  him,  and  his  to  me.  All  his  are  mine,  all  mine  his.  I  say 
to  him,  How  can  you  give  me  this  pot  of  oil,  or  this  flagon  of 
wine,  when  all  your  oil  and  wine  is  mine,  which  belief  of 
mine  this  gift  seems  to  deny  ?  Hence  the  fitness  of  beautiful, 
not  useful  things  for  gifts.  This  giving  is  flat  usurpation,  and 
therefore  when  the  beneficiary  is  ungrateful,  as  all  beneficiaries 
hate  all  Timons,  not  at  all  considering  the  valire  of  the  gift 
but  looking  back  to  the  greater  store  it  was  taken  from,  I 
rather  sympathize  with  the  beneficiary,  than  with  the  anger  o? 
my  lord  Timon.  For,  the  expectation  of  gratitude  is  "mean, 
and  is  continually  punished  by  the  total  insensibility  of  the 
obliged  person.  It  is  a  great  happiness  to  get  off  without  in- 
jury and  heart-burning,  from  one  who  has  had  the  ill  luck  to 
be  served  by  you.  It  is  a  very  onerous  business,  this  of  being 
served,  and  the  debtor  naturally  wishes  to  give  you  a  slap.  A 
golden  text  for  these  gentlemen  is  that  which  I  so  admire  in 
the  Buddhist,  who  never  thanks,  and  who  says, "  Do  not  flatter 
your  benefactors." 

The  reason  of  these  discords  I  conceive  to  be,  that  there  is 
no  commensurability  between  a  man  and  any  gift.  You  can. 
not  give  anything  to  a  magnanimous  person.  After  you  have 
served  him,  he  at  once  puts  you  in  debt  by  his  magnanimity. 
The  service  a  man  renders  his  friend  is  trivial  and  selfish,  com- 
pared with  the  service  he  knows  his  friend  stood  in  readiness 
to  yield  him,  alike  before  he  had  begun  to  serve  his  friend, 
and  now  also.  Compared  with  that  good-will  I  bear  my 
friend  the  benefit  it  is  in  my  power  to  render  him  seems  small 
Besides,  our  action  on  each  other,  good  as  well  as  evil,  is  so 
incidental  and  at  random  that  we  can  seldom  hear  the  acknowl- 
edgements of  any  person  who  would  thank  us  for  a  benefit, 
without  some  shame  and  humiliation.  We  can  rarely  strike  a 
direct  stroke,  but  must  be  content  with  an  oblique  one ;  we 
seldom  have  the  satisfaction  of  yielding  a  direct  benefit,  which 
is  directly  received.  But  rectitude  scatters  favors  on  every 
side  without  knowing  it,  and  receives  with  wonder  the  thanks 
of  ail  people. 

I  fear  to  breathe  any  treason  against  the  majesty  of  love, 
Which  is  the  genius  and  god  of  gifts,  and  to  whom  we  must  not 


ESSAT& 

affect  to  prescribe.  Let  him  give  kingdoms  or  flower-leaves  in 
differently.  There  are  persons,  from  whom  we  always  expect 
fairy  tokens  ;  let  us  not  cease  to  expect  them.  This  is  preroga 
tive,  and  not  to  be  limited  by  our  municipal  rules.  For  the 
rest,  I  like  to  see  that  we  cannot  be  bought  and  sold.  The 
best  of  hospitality  and  of  generosity  is  also  not  in  the  will,  but 
in  fate.  I  find  that  I  am  not  much  to  you  ;  you  do  not  need 
me;  you  do  not  feel  me;  then  am  I  thrust  out  of  doors,  though 
you  proffer  me  house  and  hands.  No  services  are  of  any 
value,  but  only  likeness.  When  I  have  attempted  to  join  my- 
self to  others  by  services,  it  proved  an  intellectual  trick, — no 
more.  They  eat  your  service  like  apples,  and  leave  you  out. 
But  love  them,  and  they  feel  you,  and  delight  in  you  all  the 
time. 


MATURE 


The  rounded  world  is  Mr  to  see, 

Nine  times  folded  in  mystery : 

Though  baffled  seers  cannot  impart 

The  secret  of  its  laboring  heart. 

Throb  thine  with  Nature's  throbbing  breast, 

And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west. 

Spirit  that  lurks  each  form  within 

Beckons  to  spirit  of  its  kin  ; 

Self-kindled  every  atom  glows, 

And  hints  the  future  which  it  owes. 


ESSAY  VL 
NATURE. 


THERE  are  days  which  occur  in  this  climate,  at  almost  any 
season  of  the  year,  wherein  the  world  reaches  its  perfection, 
when  the  air,  the  heavenly  bodies,  and  the  earth,  make  a  har- 
mony, as  if  nature  would  indulge  her  offspring;  when,  in 
these  bleak  upper  sides  of  the  planet,  nothing  is  to  desire  that 
we  have  heard  of  the  happiest  latitudes,  and  we  bask  in  the 
shining  hours  of  Florida  and  Cuba ;  when  everything  tWat  has 
life  gives  sign  of  satisfaction,  and  the  cattle  that  iie  on  the 
ground  seem  to  have  great  and  tranquil  thoughts.  These 
halcyons  may  be  looked  for  with  a  little  more  assurance  in  that 
pure  October  weather,  which  we  distinguish  by  t\m  name  of  the 
Indian  Summer.  The  day,  immeasurably  long,  bleeps  over  the 
broad  hills  and  warm  wide  fields.  To  have  lived  through  all 
its  sunny  hours,  seems  longevity  enough.  Tne  solitary  places 
do  not  seem  quite  lonely.  At  the  gates  cY  the  forest,  the  sur- 
prised man  of  the  world  is  forced  to  leave  nis  city  estimates  of 
great  and  small,  wise  and  foolish.  The  knapsack  of  custom 
falls  off  his  back  with  the  fust  step  he  makes  into  these  pre- 
cincts. Here  is  sanctity  which  shames  our  religions,  and 
reality  which  discredits  our  heroes.  Here  we  find  nature  to  be 
the  circumstance  which  dwarfs  every  other  circumstance,  and 
judges  like  a  god  all  men  that  come  to  her.  We  have  crept 
out  of  our  close  and  crowded  houses  into  the  night  and  morn- 
ing, and  we  see  what  majestic  beauties  daily  wrap  us  in  their 
bosom.  How  willingly  we  would  escape  the  barriers  which 
render  them  comparatively  impotent,  escape  the  sophistication 
ind  second  thought,  and  suffer  nature  to  intrance  us.  The 
tempered  light  of  the  woods  is  like  a  perpetual  morning,  and 
is  stimulating  and  heroic.  The  anciently  reported  spells  of 
these  places  creep  on  us.  The  stems  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and 
oaks,  almost  gleam  like  iron  on  the  excited  eye.  The  incom- 
municable trees  begin  to  persuade  us  to  live  with  them,  and 
quit  our  life  of  solemn  trifles.  Here  no  history,  or  church,  or 
state,  is  interpolated  on  the  divine  sky  and  the  immortal  year. 
How  easily  we  might  walk  onward  into  the  open  ing  landscape, 

m 


absorbed  by  new  pictures,  and  by  thoughts  fast  succeeding 
each  other,  until  by  degrees  the  recollection  of  home  was 
crowded  out  of  the  mind,  all  memory  obliterated  by  the 
tyranny  of  the  present,  and  we  were  led  in  triumph  by  na- 
ture. 

These  enchantments  are  medicinal,  they  sober  and  heal  us. 
These  are  plain  pleasures,  kindly  and  native  to  us.  We  come 
to  our  own,  and  make  friends  with  matter,  which  the  ambi- 
tious chatter  of  the  schools  would  persuade  us  to  despise.  We 
never  can  part  with  it ;  the  mind  loves  its  old  home  :  as  water 
to  our  thirst,  so  is  the  rock,  the  ground,  to  our  eyes,  and 
hands,  and  feet.  It  is  firm  water:  it  is  cold  flame:  what 
health,  what  affinity  1  Ever  an  old  friend,  ever  like  a  dear 
friend  and  brother,  when  we  chat  affectedly  with  strangers, 
comes  in  this  honest  face,  and  takes  a.  grave  liberty  with  us, 
and  shames  us  out  of  our  nonsense,  Cities  give  not  the 
human  senses  room  enough.  We  go  out  daily  apd  nightly  to 
feed  the  eyes  on  the  horizon,  and  require  so  much  scope,  just 
as  we  need  water  for  our  bath.  There  are  all  degrees  of  nat- 
ural influence,  from  these  quarantine  powers  of  nature,  up  to 
her  dearest  and  gravest  ministrations  to  the  imagination  and 
the  soul.  There  is  the  bucket  of  cold  water  from  the  spring, 
the  wood-fire  to  which  the  chilled  traveller  rushes  for  safety, 
— and  there  is  the  sublime  nioral  of  autumn  and  of  noon.  We 
nestle  in  nature,  and  draw  our  Hying  as  parasites  from  her 
roots  and  grains,  and  we  receive  glances  from  the  heavenly 
bodies,  which  call  us  to  solitude,  and  foretell  the  remotest 
future.  The  blue  zenith  is  the  point  in  which  romance  and 
reality  meet.  I  think,  if  we  should  be  rapt  away  into  all  that 
we  dream  of  heaven,  and  should  converse  with  Gabriel  and 
Uriel,  the  upper  sky  would  be  all  that  would  remain  of  our 
furniture. 

It  seems  as  if  the  day  was  not  wholly  profane,  in  which  we 
have  given  heed  to  some  natural  object.  The  fall  of  snow- 
flakes  in  a  still  air,  preserving  to  each  crystal  its  perfect  form . 
the  blowing  of  sleet  over  a  wide  sheet  of  water,  and  over 
plains,  the  waving  rye-field,  the  mimic  waving  of  acres  of 
houstonia,  whose  innumerable  florets  whiten  and  ripple  before 
the  eye ;  the  reflections  of  trees  and  flowers  in  glassy  lakes ; 
the  musical  steaming  odorous  south  wind,  which  converts  all 
trees  to  windharps ;  the  crackling  and  spurting  of  hemlock 
in  the  flames  ;  or  of  pine  logs,  which  yield  glory  to  the  walls 
and  faces  in  the  sitting  room, — these  are  the  music  and  pictures 
of  the  most  ancient  religion.  My  house  stands  in  low  land, 
with  limited  outlook,  and  on  the  skirt  of  the  village.  But  I 


UTATURR.  jg 

go  with  my  friend  to  the  shore  of  oar  little  river,  and  with 
one  stroke  of  the  paddle,  I  leave  the  village  politics  and  per- 
sonalities, yes,  and  the  world  of  villages  and  personalities  be- 
hind,  and  pass  into  a  delicate  realm  of  sunset  and  moonlight, 
too  bright  almost  for  spotted  man  to  enter  without  novitiate 
and  probation.  We  penetrate  bodily  this  incredible  beauty : 
we  dip  our  hands  in  this  painted  element :  our  eyes  are  bather' 
in  these  lights  and  forms.  A  holiday,  a  villeggiatura,  a  royr 
revel,  the  proudest,  most  heart-rejoicing  festival  that  vair 
and  beauty,  power  and  taste,  ever  decked  and  enjoyed,  estni, 
lishes  itself  on  the  instant.  These  sunset  clouds,  these  deli- 
cately emerging  stars,  with  their  private  and  ineffable  glances, 
signify  it  and  proffer  it.  I  am  taught  the  poorness  of  our  in* 
vention,  the  ugliness  of  towns  and  palaces.  Art  and  luxury 
nave  early  learned  that  they  must  work  as  enhancement  and 
sequel  to  this  original  beauty,  I  am  overinstructed  for  my 
return.  Henceforth  I  shall  be  hard  to  please,  I  cannot  go 
back  to  toys.  I  am  grown  expensive  and  sophisticated.  I 
can  no  longer  live  without  elegance :  but  a  countryman  shall 
be  my  master  of  revels.  He  who  knows  the  most,  he  who 
knows  what  sweets  and  virtues  are  in  the  ground,  the  waters, 
the  plants,  the  heavens,  and  how  to  come  at  these  enchant- 
ments, is  the  rich  and  royal  man.  Only  as  far  as  the  masters 
of  the  world  have  called  in  nature  to  their  aid,  can  they  reach 
the  height  of  magnificence.  This  is  the  meaning  of  their 
hanging-gardens,  villas,  garden-houses,  islands,  parks,  and 
preserves,  to  back  their  faulty  personality  with  these  strong 
accessories.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  landed  interest  should 
be  invincible  in  the  state  with  these  dangerous  auxiliaries. 
These  bribe  and  invite  ;  not  kings,  not  palaces,  not  men,  not 
women,  but  these  tender  and  poetic  stars,  eloquent  of  secret 
promises.  We  heard  what  the  rich  man  said,  we  knew  of  his 
villa,  his  grove,  his  wine,  and  his  company,  but  the  provoca 
tion  and  point  of  the  invitation  came  out  of  these  beguiling 
Stars.  In  their  soft  glances,  I  see  what  men  strove  to  realize 
in  some  Versailles,  or  Paphos,  or  Ctesiphon.  Indeed,  it  is  the 
magical  lights  of  the  horizon,  and  the  blue  sky  for  the  back- 
ground, which  save  all  our  works  of  art,  which  were  other- 
wise bawbles.  When  the  rich  tax  the  poor  with  servility  and 
obsequiousness,  they  should  consider  the  effect  of  men  reputed 
to  be  the  possessors  of  nature,  on  imaginative  minds.  Ah  1 
if  the  rich  were  rich  as  the  poor  fancy  riches !  A  boy  hears  a 
military  band  play  on  the  field  at  night,  and  he  has  kin. 
queens,  and  famous  chivalry  palpably  before  him.  He  hears 
the  echoes  of  a  horn  in  a  hill  country,  in  the  Notch  Mounfr 


91  WESSON'S  ESSAYS. 

ains,  for  example,  which  converts  the  mountains  into  aa 
JEolian  harp,  and  this  supernatural  tiralira  restores  to  him 
the  Dorian  mythology,  Apollo,  Diana,  and  all  divine  hunters 
and  huntresses.  Can  a  musical  note  be  so  lofty,  so  haughtily 
beautiful?  To  the  poor  young  poet,  thus  fabulous  is  his  pic- 
ture of  society ;  he  is  loyal ;  he  respects  the  rich ;  they  are 
rich  for  the  sake  of  his  imagination ;  how  poor  his  fancy 
would  be,  if  they  were  not  rich  1  That  they  have  some  higb.« 
fenced  grove,  which  they  call  a  park ;  that  they  live  in  larger 
and  better-garnished  saloons  than  he  has  visited,  and  go  in 
coaches,  keeping  only  the  society  of  the  elegant,  to  watering- 
places,  and  to  distant  cities,  are  the  ground-work  from  which 
he  has  delineated  estates  of  romance,  compared  with  which 
their  actual  possessions  are  shanties  and  paddocks.  The 
muse  herself  betrays  her  son,  and  enhances  the  gifts  of  wealth 
and  well-born  beauty,  by  a  radiation  out  of  the  air,  and  clouds, 
and  forests  that  skirt  the  road, — a  certain  haughty  favor,  as 
if  from  patrician  genii  to  patricians,  a  kind  of  aristocracy  in 
nature,  a  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air. 

The  moral  sensibility  which  makes  Edens  and  Tempes  so 
easily,  may  not  be  always  found,  but  the  material  landscape  is 
never  far  off.  We  can  find  these  enchantments  without  visit- 
ing the  Como  Lake,  or  the  Madeira  Islands.  We  exaggerate 
the  praises  of  local  scenery.  In  every  landscape,  the  point  of 
astonishment  is  the  meeting  of  the  sky  and  the  earth,  and 
that  is  seen  from  the  first  hillock  as  well  as  from  the  top  of 
the  Alleghanies.  The  stars  at  night  stoop  down  over  the 
brownest,  homeliest  common,  with  all  the  spiritual  magnifi- 
cence which  they  shed  on  the  Campagna,  or  on  the  marble 
deserts  of  Egypt.  The  uprolled  clouds  and  the  colors  of 
morning  and  evening,  will  transfigure  maples  and  alders.  The 
difference  between  landscape  and  landscape  is  small,  but  there 
is  great  difference  in  the  beholders.  There  is  nothing  so  won- 
derml  in  any  particular  landscape,  as  the  necessity  of  being 
beautiful  under  which  every  landscape  lies.  Nature  cannot 
be  surprised  in  undress.  Beauty  breaks  in  everywhere. 

But  it  is  very  easy  to  outrun  the  sympathy  of  readers  on 
this  topic,  which  schoolmen  called  natura  naturata,  or  nature 
passive.  One  can  hardly  speak  directly  of  it  without  excess. 
It  is  as  easy  to  broach  in  mixed  companies  what  is  called  "  the 
subject  of  religion."  A  susceptible  person  does  not  like  to  in- 
dulge his  tastes  in  this  kind,  without  the  apology  of  some 
trivial  necessity  :  he  goes  to  see  a  wood-lot,  or  to  look  at  the 
erops,  or  to  fetch  a  plant  or  a  mineral  from  a  remote  locality, 
or  be  carries  a  fowling  piece,  or  a  fishing-rod.  I  suppose  tbifi 


NATURE.  * 

shame  must  have  a  good  reason.  A  dilettantism  in  nature  is 
barren  and  unworthy.  The  fop  of  fields  is  no  better  than  his 
brother  of  Broadway.  Men  are  naturally  hunters  and  inquis- 
itive of  wood-craft,  and  I  suppose  that  such  a  gazetteer  as 
wood-cutters  and  Indians  should  furnish  facts  for,  would  take 
place  in  the  most  sumptuous  drawing-rooms  of  all  the 
"Wreaths  "  and  "  Flora's  chaplets  "  of  the  bookshops  ;  yet  or. 
dinarily,  whether  we  are  too  clumsy  for  so  subtle  a  topic,  or 
from  whatever  cause,  as  soon  as  men  begin  to  write  on  nature, 
they  fall  into  euphuism.  Frivolity  is  a  most  unfit  tribute  to 
Pan,  who  ought  to  be  represented  in  the  mythology  as  the 
most  continent  of  gods.  I  would  not  be  frivolous  before  the 
admirable  reserve  and  prudence  of  time,  yet  I  cannot  renounce 
the  right  of  returning  often  to  this  old  topic.  The  multitude 
of  false  churches  accredits  the  true  religion.  Literature, 
poetry,  science,  are  the  homage  of  man  to  this  unfathomed  se- 
cret, concerning  which  no  sane  man  can  affect  an  indiffeienoe 
or  incuriosity.  Nature  is  loved  by  what  is  best  in  us.  It  is 
loved  as  the  city  of  God,  although,  or  rather  because  there  u. 
no  citizen.  The  sunset  is  unlike  anything  that  is  underneath 
it :  it  wants  men.  And  the  beauty  of  nature  must  always 
seem  unreal  and  mocking,  until  the  landscape  has  human  fig- 
ures, that  are  as  good  as  itself.  If  there  were  good  men,  there 
would  never  be  this  rapture  in  nature.  If  tke  king  is  in  the 
palace,  nobody  looks  at  the  walls.  It  is  when  he  is  gone,  and 
the  house  is  filled  with  grooms  and  gazers,  that  we  turn  from 
the  people,  to  find  relief  in  the  majestic  men  that  are  sug- 
gested by  the  pictures  and  the  architecture.  The  critics  who 
complain  of  the  sickly  separation  of  the  beauty  of  nature  from 
the  thing  to  be  done,  must  consider  that  our  hunting  of  the 
picturesque  is  inseparable  from  our  protest  against  false  soci- 
ety. Man  is  fallen  ;  nature  is  erect,  and  serves  as  a  differen- 
tial thermometer,  detecting  the  presence  or  absence  ol  the  di- 
vine sentiment  in  man.  By  fault  of  our  dulness  and  selfish- 
ness, we  are  looking  up  to  nature,  but  when  we  are  convales- 
cent, nature  will  look  up  to  us.  We  see  the  foaming  brook 
with  compunction :  if  our  own  life  flowed  with  the  right  en- 
ergy, we  should  shame  the  brook.  The  stream  of  zeal  sparkles 
with  real  fire,  and  not  with  reflex  rays  of  sun  and  moon.  Na- 
ture may  be  as  selfishly  studied  as  trade.  Astronomy  to  the 
selfish  becomes  astrology ;  psychology,  mesmerism  (with  in- 
tent to  show  where  our  spoons  are  gone) ;  and  anatomy  and 
physiology,  become  phrenology  and  palmistry. 

But  taking  timely  warning,  and  leaving  many  things  unsaid 
on  this  topic,  let  us  not  longer  omit  our  homage  to  the  Effl- 


88  EMESSON'8  ESSAYS. 

cient  Nature,  natura  naturans,  the  quick  cause,  before  which 
all  forms  flee  as  the  driven  snows,  itself  secret,  its  works  driven 
before  it  in  flocks  and  multitudes,  (as  the  ancient  represented 
nature  by  Proteus,  a  shepherd,)  and  in  undescribable  variety. 
It  publishes  itself  in  creatures,  reaching  from  particles  and 
spicula,  through  transformation  on  transformation  to  the  high- 
est symmetries,  arriving  at  consummate  results  without  a 
shock  or  a  leap.  A  little  heat,  that  is,  a  little  motion,  is  all 
that  differences  the  bald,  dazzling  white,  and  deadly  cold  poles 
Of  the  earth  from  the  prolific  tropical  climates.  All  changes 
pass  without  violence,  by  reason  of  the  two  cardinal  condi- 
tions of  boundless  space  and  boundless  time.  Geology  has 
initiated  us  into  the  secularity  of  nature,  and  taught  us  to  dis- 
use our  dame-school  measures,  and  exchange  our  Mosaic  and 
Ptolemaic  schemes  for  her  large  style.  We  knew  nothing 
lightly,  for  want  of  perspective.  Now  we  learn  what  patient 
periods  must  round  themselves  before  the  rock  is  formed,  then 
ioefore  the  rock  is  broken,  and  the  first  lichen  race  has  disin- 
tegrated the  thinnest  external  plate  into  soil,  and  opened  the 
door  for  the  remote  Flora,  Fauna,  Ceres,  and  Pomona,  to  come 
in.  How  far  off  yet  is  the  trilobite  !  how  far  the  quadruped  I 
how  inconceivably  remote  is  man  1  All  duly  arrive,  and  then 
race  after  race  of  men.  It  is  a  long  way  from  granite  to  the 
oyster  ;  farther  yet  to  Plato,  and  the  preaching  of  the  immor- 
tality of  the  souL  Yet  all  must  come,  as  surely  as  the  first 
atom  has  <wo  sides. 

Motion  or  change,  and  identity  or  rest,  are  the  first  and  sec- 
ond secrets  of  nature :  Motion  and  Rest.  The  whole  code  of 
her  laws  may  be  written  on  the  thumbnail,  or  the  signet  of  a 
ring.  The  whirling  bubble  on  the  surface  of  a  brook,  admits 
us  to  the  secret  of  the  mechanics  of  the  sky.  Every  shell  on 
the  beach  is  a  key  to  it.  A  little  water  made  to  rotate  in  a 
cup  explains  the  formation  of  the  simpler  shells  ;  the  addition 
of  matter  from  year  to  year,  arrives  at  last  at  the  most  com- 
plex forms  ;  and  yet  so  poor  is  nature  with  all  her  craft,  that, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  universe,  she  has  but  one 
stuft, — but  one  stuff  with  its  two  ends,  to  serve  up  all  her 
dream-like  variety.  Compound  it  how  she  will,  star,  sand,  fire, 
water,  tree,  man,  it  is  still  one  stuff,  and  betrays  the  same 
properties. 

Natuwj  is  always  consistent,  though  she  feigus  to  contravene 
her  own  lavs.  She  keeps  her  laws,  and  seems  to  transcend 
them.  She  arms  and  equips  an  animal  to  find  its  place  and 
living  in  the  earth,  and,  at  the  same  time,  she  arms  and  equips 
another  animal  to  destroy  it.  Space  exists  to  divide  creatures; 


NATURE.  ft 

but  by  clothing  the  sides  of  a  bird  with  a  few  feathers,  she 
gives  him  a  petty  omnipresence.  The  direction  is  forever  on- 
ward,  but  the  artist  still  goes  back  for  materials,  and  begins 
again  with  tlit,  first  elements  on  the  most  advanced  stage : 
otherwise,  all  goes  to  ruin.  If  we  look  at  her  work,  we  seem 
to  catch  a  glance  of  a  system  in  transition.  Plants  are  the 
young  of  the  world,  vessels  of  health  and  vigor :  but  they 
grope  ever  upward  towards  consciousness  ;  the  trees  are  im- 
perfect men,  and  seem  to  bemoan  their  imprisonment,  routed 
in  the  ground.  The  animal  is  the  novice  and  probationer  of  a 
more  advanced  order.  The  men,  though  young,  having  tasted 
the  first  drop  from  the  cup  of  thought,  are  already  dissipated  : 
the  maples  and  fe:.ns  are  still  uncorrupt;  yet  no  doubt,  when 
they  come  to  consciousness,  they  too  will  curse  and  swear. 
Flowers  so  strictly  belong  to  youth,  that  we  adult  men  soon 
come  to  feel,  that  their  beautiful  generations  concern  not  us  . 
we  have  had  our  day  ;  now  let  the  children  have  theirs.  The 
flowers  jilt  us,  and  we  are  old  bachelors  with  our  ridiculous 
tenderness. 

Things  are  so  strictly  related,  that  according  to  the  skill  of 
the  eye,  from  any  one  object  the  parts  and  properties  of  any 
other  may  be  predicted.  If  we  had  eyes  to  see  it,  a  bit  of 
stone  from  the  city  wall  would  certify  us  of  the  necessity  that 
man  must  exist,  as  readily  as  the  city.  That  identity  makes 
us  all  one,  and  reduces  to  nothing  great  intervals  on  our  cus- 
tomary scale.  We  talk  of  deviations  from  natural  life,  as  if 
artificial  life  were  not  also  natural.  The  smoothest  curled 
courtier  in  the  boudoirs  of  a  palace  has  an  animal  nature,  rude 
and  aboriginal  as  a  white  bear,  omnipotent  to  its  own  ends, 
and  is  directly  related,  there  amid  essences  and  billets-doux,  to 
Hiramaleh  mountain-chains,  and  the  axis  of  the  globe.  If  we 
consider  how  much  we  are  nature's,  we  need  not  be  supersti- 
tious about  towns,  as  if  that  terrific  or  benefic  force  did  not 
find  us  there  also;  and  fashion  cities.  Nature  who  made  the 
mason,  made  the  house.  We  may  easily  hear  too  much  of 
rural  influences.  The  cool  disengaged  air  of  natural  objects, 
makes  them  enviable  to  us,  chafed  and  irritable  creatures  with 
red  faces,  and  we  think  we  shall  be  as  grand  as  they,  if  we 
camp  out  and  eat  roots ;  but  let  us  be  men  instead  of  wood- 
chucks,  and  the  oak  and  the  elm  shall  gladly  serve  us,  though 
we  sit  in  chairs  of  ivory  on  carpets  of  silk. 

This  guiding  identity  runs  through  all  the  surprises  and 
contrasts  of  the  piece,  and  characterizes  every  law.  Man 
carries  the  world  in  his  head,  the  whole  astronomy  and  chemis- 
try suspended  in  a  thought.  Because  the  history  of  nature  i» 

7 


charactered  in  his  brain,  therefore  is  he  the  prophet  and  di» 
coverer  of  her  secrets.  Every  known  fact  in  natural  science 
was  divined  by  the  presentiment  of  somebody,  before  it  was 
actually  verified:  A  man  does  not  tie  his  shoe  without  recog- 
nizing laws  which  bind  the  farthest  regions  of  nature  :  moon, 
plant,  gas,  crystal,  are  concrete  geomet^  and  numbers.  Com- 
mon sense  knows  its  own,  and  recognizes  the  fact  at  first  sight 
in  chemical  experiment.  The  common  sense  of  Franklin, 
Dalton,  Davy,  and  Black,  is  the  same  common  sense  which 
made  the  arrangements  which  now  it  discovers. 

If  the  identity  expresses  organized  rest,  the  counter  action 
runs  also  into  organization.  The  astronomers  said, '  Give  us 
matter,  and  a  little  motion,  and  we  will  construct  the  universe. 
It  is  not  enough  that  we  should  have  matter,  we  must  also 
have  a  single  impulse,  one  shove  to  launch  the  mass,  and 
generate  the  harmony  of  the  centrifugal  and  centripetal  forces. 
Once  heave  the  ball  from  the  hand,  and  we  can  show  how  all 
this  mighty  order  grew.' — '  A  very  unreasonable  postulate,' 
said  the  metaphysicians, '  and  a  plain  begging  of  the  question. 
Could  you  not  prevail  to  know  the  genesis  of  projection,  as 
well  as  the  continuation  of  it?'  Nature,  meanwhile,  had  not 
waited  for  the  discussion,  but,  right  or  wrong,  bestowed  the 
impulse,  and  the  balls  rolled.  It  was  no  great  affair,  a  mere 
push,  but  the  astronomers  were  right  in  making  much  of  it, 
for  there  is  no  end  to  the  consequences  of  the  act.  That  fa- 
mous aboriginal  push  propagates  itself  through  all  the  balls 
of  the  system,  and  through  every  atom  of  every  ball,  through 
all  the  races  of  creatures,  and  through  the  history  and  per- 
formances of  every  individual.  Exaggeration  is  in  the  course 
of  things.  Nature  sends  no  creature,  no  man  into  the  world, 
without  adding  a  small  excess  of  his  proper  quality.  Given 
the  planet,  it  is  still  necessary  to  add  the  impulse;  so,  to 
*very  creature  nature  added  a  little  violence  of  direction  in  its 
proper  path,  a  shove  to  put  it  on  its  way  ;  in  every  instance, 
a  slight  generosity,  a  drop  too  much.  Without  electricity  the 
lir  would  rot,  and  without  this  violence  of  direction,  which 
men  and  women  have,  without  a  spice  of  bigot  and  fanatic,  no 
excitement,  no  efficiency.  We  aim  above  the  mark,  to  hit  the 
mark.  Every  act  hath  some  falsehood  of  exaggeration  in  it. 
And  when  now  and  then  comes  along  some  sad,  sharp-eyed 
man,  who  sees  how  paltry  a  game  is  plaj^ed,  and  refuses  to 
play,  but  blabs  the  secret; — how  then?  is  the  bird  flown0  O 
no,  the  wary  Nature  sends  a  new  troop  of  fairer  forms,  of 
lordlier  youths,  with  a  little  more  excess  of  direction  to  hold 
them  fast  to  their  several  aim  ;  makes  them  a  little  wrong- 


NATURE.  «, 

headed  in  that  direction  in  which  they  are  ngotest,  and  on 
goes  the  game  again  with  new  whirl,  for  a  generation  or  two 
more.  The  child  with  his  sweet  pranks,  the  fool  of  his  senses, 
commanded  by  every  sight  and  sound,  without  any  power  to 
compare  and  rank  his  sensations,  abandoned  to  a  whistle  or  a 
painted  chip,  to  a  lead  dragoon,  or  a  gingerbread-dog,  individ- 
ualizing everything,  generalizing  nothing,  delighted  with 
every  new  thing,  lies  down  at  night  overpowered  by  the 
fatigue,  which  this  day  of  continual  pretty  madness  has  in. 
curred.  But  Nature  has  answered  her  purpose  with  the 
curly,  dimpled  lunatic.  She  has  tasked  every  faculty,  and  has 
secured  the  symmetrical  growth  of  the  bodily  frame,  by  all 
these  attitudes  and  exertions, — an  end  of  the  first  importance, 
which  could  not  be  trusted  to  any  care  less  perfect  than  her 
own.  This  glitter,  this  opaline  lustre  plays  round  the  top  o 
every  toy  to  his  eye,  to  ensure  his  fidelity,  and  he  is  deceived 
to  his  good.  We  are  made  alive  and  kept  alive  by  the  same 
arts.  Let  the  stoics  say  what  they  please,  we  do  not  eat  for 
the  good  of  living,  but  because  the  meat  is  savory  and  the 
appetite  is  keen.  The  vegetable  life  does  not  content  itself 
casting  from  the  flower  or  the  tree  a  single  seed,  but  it  fills  the 
air  and  earth  with  a  prodigality  of  seeds,  that,  if  thousands 
perish,  thousands  may  plant  themselves,  that  hundreds  may 
come  up,  that  tens  may  live  to  maturity,  that,  at  least,  one 
may  replace  the  parent.  All  things  betray  the  same  calcula- 
ted profusion.  The  excess  of  fear  with  which  the  animal  frame 
is  hedged  round,  shrinking  from  cold,  starting  at  sight  of  a 
snake,  or  at  a  sudden  noise,  protects  us,  through  a  multitude 
of  groundless  alarms,  from  some  one  real  danger  at  .last.  The 
lover  seeks  in  marriage  his  private  felicity  and  perfection, 
with  no  prospective  end ;  and  nature  hides  in  his  happiness 
her  own  end,  namely,  progeny,  or  the  perpetuity  of  the  race. 

But  the  craft  with  which  the  world  is  made,  runs  also  into 
!  lie  mind  and  character  of  men.  No  man  is  quite  sane ;  each 
iias  a  vein  of  folly  in  his  composition,  a  slight  determination 
of  blood  to  the  head,  to  make  sure  of  holding  him  hard  to 
some  one  point  which  nature  had  taken  to  heart.  Great 
causes  are  never  tried  on  their  merits ;  but  the  cause  is  re- 
duced to  particulars  to  suit  the  size  of  the  partizans,  and  the 
contention  is  ever  hottest  on  minor  matters.  Not  less  re- 
markable is  the  overfaith  of  each  man  in  the  importance  01 
what  he  has  to  do  or  say.  The  poet,  the  prophet,  has  a  higher 
value  for  what  he  utters  than  any  hearer,  and  then-fore  it  gets 
spoken.  The  strong,  self-complacent  Luther  declares  with  an 
emphasis,  not  to  be  mistaken,  that  "  God  himself  cannot  do 


iOt  £BfEBSONJS  ESSAYS. 

without  wise  men."  Jacob  Behmen  and  George  Fox  betraj 
their  egotism  in  the  pertinacity  of  their  controversial  tracts, 
and  James  Naylor  once  suffered  himself  to  be  worshipped  as 
the  Christ.  Each  prophet  comes  presently  to  identify  him- 
self with  his  thought,  and  to  esteem  his  hat  and  shoes  sacred. 
However  this  may  discredit  such  persons  with  the  judicious, 
it  helps  them  with  the  people,  as  it  gives  heat,  pungencjr,  and 
publicity  to  their  words.  A  similar  experience  is  not  infre- 
quent in  private  life.  Each  young  and  ardent  person  writes 
a  diar}r,  in  which,  when  the  hours  of  prayer  and  penitence  ar- 
rive, he  inscribes  his  soul.  The  pages  thus  written  are,  to 
him,  burning  and  fragrant :  he  reads  them  on  his  knees  by 
midnight  and  by  the  morning  star ;  he  wets  them  with  his 
tears  :  they  are  sacred  ;  too  good  for  the  world,  and  hardly  yet 
to  be  shown  to  the  dearest  friend.  This  is  the  man-child  that 
is  born  to  the  soul,  and  her  life  still  circulates  in  the  babe. 
The  umbilical  cord  has  not  yet  been  cut.  After  some  time 
has  elapsed,  he  begins  to  wish  to  admit  his  friend  to  this  hal- 
lowed experience,  and  with  hesitation,  yet  with  firmness,  ex- 
poses the  pages  to  his  eye.  Will  thejr  not  burn  his  eyes  ? 
The  friend  coldly  turns  them  over,  and  passes  from  the  writ- 
ing to  conversation,  with  easy  transition,  which  strikes  the 
other  party  with  astonishment  and  vexation.  He  cannot  sus- 
pect the  writing  itself.  Days  and  nights  of  fervid  life,  of  com- 
munion with  angels  of  darkness  and  of  light,  have  engraved 
their  shadowy  characters  on  that  tear-stained  book.  He  sus- 
pects the  intelligence  or  the  heart  of  his  friend.  Is  there  then 
no  friend  ?  He  cannot  yet  credit  that  one  may  have  impress- 
ive experience,  and  }ret  may  not  know  how  to  put  his  private 
fact  into  literature ;  and  perhaps  the  discover}-  that  wisdom 
has  other  tongues  and  ministers  than  we,  that  though  we 
should  hold  our  peace,  the  truth  would  not  the  less  be  spoken, 
might  check  injuriously  the  flames  of  our  zeal.  A  man  can 
enh*  speak,  so  long  as  he  does  not  feel  his  speech  to  be  partial 
and  inadequate.  It  is  partial,  but  he  does  not  see  it  to  be  sc, 
vhiist  he  utters  it.  As  soon  as  he  is  released  from  the  in- 
stinctive and  particular,  and  sees  its  partiality,  he  shuts  his 
mouth  in  disgust.  For,  no  man  can  write  anj'thing,  who  does 
not  think  that  what  he  writes  is  for  the  time  the  history  of  the 
world  ;  or  do  anything  well,  who  does  not  esteem  his  work  to 
be  of  importance.  My  work  may  be  of  none,  but  I  must  not 
think  it  of  none,  or  I  shall  not  do'it  with  impunity. 

In  like  manner,  there  is  throughout  nature  something  mock- 
ing, something  that  leads  us  on  and  on,  but  arrives  nowhere, 
keeps  no  faith  with  us.  All  promise  outruns  the  performance. 


NATURE.  a* 

We  live  in  a  system  of  approximations.  Every  end  Is  pro- 
spective of  some  other  end,  which  is  also  temporary ;  a  round 
and  final  success  nowhere.  We  are  encamped  in  nature,  not 
domesticated.  Hunger  and  thirst  lead  us  on  to  eat  and  to 
drink  ;  but  bread  and  wine,  mix  and  cook  them  how  you  will, 
leave  us  hungry  and  thirsty,  after  the  stomach  is  full.  It  ia 
the  same  with  all  our  arts  and  performances.  Our  music,  our 
poetry,  our  language  itself  are  not  satisfactions,  but  sugges 
tions.  The  hunger  for  wealth,  which  reduces  the  planet  to  1 
garden,  fools  the  eager  pursuer.  What  is  the  end  sought, 
Plainly  to  secure  the  ends  of  good  sense  and  beauty,  from  the 
intrusion  of  deformity  or  vulgarity  of  any  kind.  But  what  an 
operose  method  I  What  a  train  of  means  to  secure  a  little 
conversation  !  This  palace  of  brick  and  stone,  these  servants, 
this  kitchen,  these  stables,  horses  and  equipage,  this  bank- 
stock,  and  file  of  mortgages;  trade  to  all  the  world,  country- 
house  and  cottage  by  the  water-side,  all  for  a  little  conversa- 
tion, high,  clear,  and  spiritual  I  Could  it  not  be  had  as  well 
by  beggars  on  the  highway  ?  No.  all  these  things  came  from 
successive  efforts  of  these  beggars  to  remove  friction  from  the 
wheels  of  life,  and  give  opportunity.  Conversation,  character, 
were  the  avowed  ends ;  wealth  was  good  as  it  appeased  the 
animal  cravings,  cured  the  smoky  chimney,  silenced  the  creak* 
ing  door,  brought  friends  together  in  a  warm  and  quiet  room, 
and  kept  the  children  and  the  dinner-table  in  a  different  apart- 
ment. Thought,  virtue,  beauty,  were  the  ends ;  but  it  was 
known  that  men  of  thought  and  virtue  sometimes  had  the 
headache,  or  wet  feet,  or  could  lose  good  time  whilst  the  room 
was  getting  warm  in  winter  days.  Unluckily,  in  the  exertions 
necessary  to  remove  these  inconveniences,  the  main  attention 
has  been  diverted  to  this  object ;  the  old  aims  have  been  lost 
eight  of,  and  to  remove  friction  has  come  to  be  the  end.  That 
is  the  ridicule  of  rich  men,  and  Boston,  London,  Vienna,  and 
now  the  governments  generally  of  the  world,  are  citirs  and 
governments  of  the  rich,  and  the  masses  are  not  men,  but, poor 
men,  that  is,  men  who  would  be  rich  ;  this  is  the  ridicule  of 
the  class,  that  they  arrive  with  pains  and  sweat  and  fury  no. 
where  ;  when  all  is  done,  it  is  for  nothing.  They  are  like  one 
who  has  interrupted  the  conversation  of  a  company  to  make 
his  speech,  and  now  has  forgotten  what  he  went  to  say.  The 
appearance  strikes  the  eye  everywhere  of  an  aimless  society, 
of  aimless  nations.  Were  the  ends  of  nature  so  great  and 
cogent,  as  to  exact  this  immense  sacrifice  of  men  F 

Quite  analogous  to  the  deceits  in  life,  there  is,  vs  might  be 
expected,  a  similar  effect  on  the  eye  from  the  face  of  external 


JOa  WESSON'S  ESSAYS. 

nature.  There  is  in  woods  and  waters  a  certain  enticement 
and  flattery,  together  with  a  failure  to  yield  a  present  satisfao 
tion.  This  disappointment  is  felt  in  every  landscape.  I  have 
seen  the  softness  and  beauty  of  the  summer-clouds  floating 
feathery  overhead,  enjoying,  as  it  seemed,  their  height  and 
privilege  of  motion,  whilst  yet  they  appeared  not  so  much  the 
drapery  of  this  place  and  hour,  as  forelooking  to  some  pavilions 
and  gardens  of  festivity  beyond.  It  is  an  odd  jealousy :  but 
the  poet  finds  himself  not  near  enough  to  his  object.  The  pine- 
tree,  the  river,  the  bank  of  flowers  before  him,  does  not  seem 
to  be  nature.  Nature  is  still  elsewhere.  This  or  this  is  but 
outskirt  and  far-off  reflection  and  echo  of  the  triumph  that  has 
passed  by,  and  is  now  at  its  glancing  splendor  and  heyday, 
perchance  in  the  neighboring  fields,  or,  if  you  stand  in  the 
field,  then  in  the  adjacent  woods.  The  present  object  shall 
give  you  this  sense  of  stillness  that  follows  a  pageant  which 
has  just  gone  by.  What  splendid  distance,  what  recesses  of 
ineffable  pomp  and  loveliness  in  the  sunset !  But  who  can  go 
where  they  are,  or  lay  his  hand  or  plant  his  foot  thereon  ?  Off 
they  fall  from  the  round  world  forever  and  ever.  It  is  the 
same  among  the  men  and  women,  as  among  the  silent  trees ; 
always  a  referred  existence,  an  absence,  never  a  presence  and 
satisfaction.  Is  it,  that  beauty  can  never  be  grasped  ?  in  per- 
sons and  in  landscape  is  equally  inaccessible  ?  The  accepted 
and  betrothed  lover  has  lost  the  wildest  charm  of  his  maiden 
in  her  acceptance  of  him.  She  was  heaven  whilst  he  pursued 
her  as  a  star :  she  cannot  be  heaven,  if  she  stoops  to  such  a 
one  as  he. 

What  shall  we  say  of  this  omnipresent  appearance  of  that 
first  projectile  impulse,  of  this  flattery  and  baulking  of  so 
many  well-meaning  creatures  ?  Must  we  not  suppose  some- 
where in  the  universe  a  slight  treachery  and  derision  ?  Are 
we  not  engaged  to  a  serious  resentment  of  this  use  that  is 
made  of  us?  Are  we  tickled  trout,  and  fools  of  nature? 
One  look  at  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth  lays  all  petulance  at 
rest,  and  soothes  us  to  wiser  convictions.  To  the  intelligent, 
nature  converts  itself  into  a  vast  promise,  and  will  not  be 
rashly  explained.  Her  secret  is  untold.  Many  and  many  an 
CEdipus  arrives:  he  has  the  whole  mystery  teeming  in  his 
brain.  Alas !  the  same  sorcery  has  spoiled  his  skill ;  no  syl- 
lable can  he  shape  on  his  lips.  Her  mighty  orbit  vaults  like 
the  fresh  rainbow  into  the  deep,  but  no  archangel's  wing  was 
yet  strong  enough  to  follow  it,  and  report  of  the  return  of  the 
curve.  But  it  also  appears,  that  our  actions  are  seconded  and 
disposed  to  greater  conclusions  than  we  designed.  We  are  ea* 


corted  oft  Svery  ha,     .nrougL  aft  ^  ,r  .r,.ent8  and  _ 

beneficent   purpose   lies  in  wait  for   us.     We  cannot  bandv 
words  with  nature,  or  deal  with  her  as  we  deal  with  perse 
If  we  measure  our  individual  forces  age  hi,;*,  hers    we  mav 
easily  feel  as  it  we  were  the  sport  of  an  insuperable  destiny 

But  if,  iqfltea^  of  identifying  ."xtim  with  the  WQfk,  we  feei 
thr.t  the  soul  oi  the  workman  streams  through  us,  we  shall 
fine,  the  peace  of  the  morning  dwelling  first  in  our  hearts,  and 
the  fathomless  powers  of  gravity  and  chemistry  and,  over 
them,  of  life,  pre-existing  within  us  in  their  highest  form. 

The  uneasiness  which  the  thought  of  our  helplessness  in  the 
chain  of  causes  occasions  us,  results  from  looking  too  much  at 
one  condition  oi  nature,  namely,  Motion.  But  the  drag  is 
never  taken  from  the  wheel.  Wherever  the  impulse  exceeds, 
the  Rest  or  Identity  insinuates  its  compensation.  All  over 
the  wide  fields  oi  earth  grows  the  prunella  or  self-heal.  After 
every  foolish  day  we  sleep  off  the  fumes  and  furies  of  its 
hours ;  and  though  we  are  always  engaged  with  particulars, 
and  often  enslaved  to  them,  we  bring  with  us  to  every  experi- 
ment the  innate  universal  laws.  These,  while  they  exist  hi 
the  mind  as  ideas,  stand  around  us  in  nature  forever  embodied, 
a  present  sanity  to  expose  and  cure  the  insanity  of  men.  Our 
servitude  to  particulars  betrays  into  a  hundred  foolish  expec- 
tations. We  anticipate  a  new  era  from  the  invention  of  a  loco- 
motive, or  a  balloon ;  the  new  engine  brings  with  it  the  old 
checks.  They  say  that  by  electro-magnetism,  your  salad  shall 
be  grown  from  the  seed,  whilst  your  fowl  is  roasting  for  din- 
ner :  it  is  a  symbol  of  our  modern  aims  and  endeavors, — of 
our  condensation  and  acceleration  of  objects :  but  nothing  is 
gained :  nature  cannot  be  cheated :  man's  life  is  but  seventy 
salads  long,  grow  they  swift  or  grow  they  slow.  In  these 
checks  and  impossibilities,  however,  we  find  our  advantage, 
not  less  than  in  the  impulses.  Let  the  victory  fall  where  it 
will,  we  are  on  that  side.  And  the  knowledge  that  we  traverse 
the  whole  scale  of  being,  from  the  centre  to  the  poles  of  na- 
ture, and  have  some  stake  in  every  possibility,  lends  that  sub- 
lime lustre  to  death,  which  philosophy  and  religion  have  too 
outwardly  and  literally  striven  to  express  in  the  popular  doc- 
trine of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  The  reality  is  more 
excellent  than  the  report.  Here  is  no  ruin,  no  discontinu. 
ity,  no  spent  ball.  The  divine  circulations  never  rest  nor 
linger.  Nature  is  the  incarnation  of  a  thought,  and  turns 
to  a  thought  again,  as  ice  becomes  water  and  gas.  The 
world  is  mind  precipitated,  and  the  volatile  essence  is  forever 
escaping  again  into  the  state  of  free  thought.  Hence  the  vip. 


104  EMERSON1 8  ESSAYS. 

tue  and  pungency  of  the  influence  on  the  mind,  of  natural  oo 
jects,  whether  inorganic  or  organized.  Man  imprisoned,  man 
crystallized,  man  vegetative,  speaks  to  man  impersonated. 
That  power  which  does  not  respect  quantity,  which  makes  the 
whole  and  the  particle  its  equal  channel,  delegates  its  smile  to 
the  morning,  and  distils  its  essence  into  every  drop  of  rain. 
Every  moment  instructs,  and  every  object :  for  wisdom  is  in- 
fused  into  every  form.  It  has  been  poured  into  us  as  blood  ; 
it  convulsed  us  as  pain  ;  it  slid  into  us  as  pleasure  ;  it  envel- 
oped us  in  dull,  melancholy  days,  or  in  days  of  cheerfi* 
labor ;  we  did  not  guess  its  essence,  until  after  a  long  time. 


pouTica 


Gold  and  iron  are  good 

To  buy  iron  and  gold  ; 

All  earth's  fleece  and  food 

For  their  like  are  sold. 

Boded  Merlin  wise, 

Proved  Napoleon  great,— 

Nor  kind  nor  coinage  bays 

Anght  above  its  rate. 

Fear,  Craft,  and  Avarice 

Cannot  rear  a  State. 

Ont  of  dust  to  build 

What  is  more  than  dust,— 

Walls  Amphion  piled 

Phoebus  stablish  must. 

When  the  Muses  nine 

With  the  Virtues  meet, 

Find  to  their  design 

An  Atlantic  seat, 

By  green  orchard  boughs 

Fended  from  the  heat, 

Where  the  statesman  ploughs 

Furrow  for  the  wheat ; 

When  the  Church  is  social  worth. 

When  the  state-house  is  the  health, 

Then  the  perfect  State  is  come. 

The  republican  at  borne 

PK 


ESSAY 
POLITICS. 


IN  dealing  with  the  State,  vre  ought  to  remember  that  it 
institutions  are  not  aboriginal,  though  they  existed  before  wo 
were  born  :  that  they  are  not  superior  to  the  citizen  :  that 
every  one  of  them  was  once  the  act  of  a  single  man :  every 
law  and  usage  was  a  man's  expedient  to  meet  a  particular 
case :  that  they  all  are  imitable,  all  alterable  ;  we  may  make  as 
good;  we  may  make  better.  Society  is  an  illusion  to  the 
young  citizen.  It  lies  before  him  in  rigid  repose,  with  certain 
names,  men,  and  institutions,  rooted  like  oak-trees  to  the 
centre,  round  which  all  arrange  themselves  the  best  they  can. 
But  the  old  statesman  knows  that  society  is  fluid  ;  there  are 
no  such  roots  and  centres ;  but  any  particle  may  suddenly 
become  the  centre  of  the  movement,  and  compel  the  system  to 
gyrate  round  it,  as  every  man  of  strong  will,  like  Pisistratus, 
or  Cromwell,  does  for  a  time,  and  every  man  of  truth,  like 
Plato,  or  Paul,  does  forever.  But  politics  rest  on  necessary 
foundations,  and  cannot  be  treated  with  levity.  Republics 
abound  in  young  civilians,  who  believe  that  the  laws  make  the 
city,  that  grave  modifications  of  the  policy  and  modes  of  liv- 
ing, and  employments  of  the  population,  that  commerce,  edu- 
cation, and  religion,  may  be  voted  in  or  out ;  and  that  any 
measure,  though  it  were  absurd,  may  be  imposed  on  a  people, 
if  only  you  can  get  sufficient  voices  to  make  it  a  law.  But 
the  wise  know  that  foolish  legislation  is  a  rope  of  sand,  which 
perishes  in  the  twisting  ;  that  the  State  must  follow,  and  not 
lead  the  character  and  progress  of  the  citizen  ;  the  strongest 
usurper  is  quickly  got  rid  of;  and  they  only  who  build  on 
Ideas,  build  for  eternity;  and  that  the  form  of  government 
which  prevails,  is  the  expression  of  what  cultivation  exists  in 
the  population  which  permits  it.  The  law  is  only  a  memo- 
randum. We  are  superstitious,  and  esteem  the  statute  some- 
what :  so  much  life  as  it  has  in  the  character  of  living  men,  is 
its  force.  The  statute  stands  there  to  say,  yesterday  we 
agreed  so  and  so,  but  how  feel  ye  this  article  to-day  ?  Our 
statute  is  a  currency,  which  we  stamp  with  our  own  portrait : 
it  cioon  becomes  unrecognizable,  and  in  process  of  time  will 


MS  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

return  to  the  mint.  Nature  is  not  democratic,  nor  limited 
monarchical,  but  despotic,  and  will  not  be  fooled  or  abated  of 
any  jot  of  her  authority,  by  the  pertest  of  her  sons :  and  as 
fast  as  the  public  mind  is  opened  to  more  intelligence,  the  code 
is  seen  to  be  brute  and  stammering.  It  speaks  not  articu« 
lately,  and  must  be  made  to.  Meantime  the  education  of  the 
general  mind  never  stops.  The  reveries  of  the  true  and  sim- 
ple are  prophetic.  What  the  tender  poetic  youth  dreams,  and 
prays,  and  paints  to-day,  but  shuns  the  ridicule  of  saying 
aloud,  shall  presently  be  the  resolutions  of  public  bodies,  then 
shall  be  carried  as  grievance  and  bill  of  rights  through  conflict 
and  war,  and  then  shall  be  triumphant  law  and  establishment 
for  a  hundred  years,  until  it  gives  place,  in  turn,  to  new 
prayers  and  pictures.  The  history  of  the  State  sketches  in 
coarse  outline  the  progress  of  thought,  and  follows  at  a  dis- 
tance the  delicacy  of  culture  and  of  aspiration. 

The  theory  of  politics,  which  has  possessed  the  mind  of 
men,  and  which  the}7  have  expressed  the  best  they  could  in 
their  laws  and  in  their  revolutions,  considers  persons  and 
property  as  the  two  objects  for  whose  protection  government 
exists.  Of  persons,  all  have  equal  rights,  in  virtue  of  being 
identical  in  nature.  This  interest,  of  course,  with  its  whole 
power  demands  a  democracy.  Whilst  the  rights  of  all  as  per- 
sons are  equal,  in  virtue  of  their  access  to  reason,  their  rights 
in  property  are  very  unequal.  One  man  owns  his  clothes,  and 
another  owns  a  county.  This  accident,  depending,  primarily, 
on  the  skill  and  virtue  of  the  parties,  of  which  there  is  every 
degree,  and,  secondarily,  on  patrimony,  falls  unequally,  and 
its  rights,  of  course  are  unequal.  Personal  rights,  universally 
the  same,  demand  a  government  framed  on  the  ratio  of  the 
census :  property  demands  a  government  framed  on  the  ratio 
of  owners  and  of  owning.  Laban,  who  has  flocks  and  herds, 
wishes  them  looked  after  by  an  officer  on  the  frontiers,  lest  the 
Midianites  shall  drive  them  off,  and  pays  a  tax  to  that  end. 
Jacob  has  no  flocks  or  herds,  and  no  fear  of  the  Midianites,  and 
pays  no  tax  to  the  officer.  It  seemed  fit  that  Laban  and 
Jacob  should  have  equal  rights  to  elect  the  officer,  who  is  to 
defend  their  persons,  but  that  Laban,  and  not  Jacob,  should 
elect  the  officer  who  is  to  guard  the  sheep  and  cattle.  And,  if 
question  arises  whether  additional  officers  or  watch-towers 
should  be  provided,  must  not  Laban  and  Isaac,  and  those  who 
must  sell  part  of  their  herds  to  buy  protection  for  the  rest, 
judge  better  of  this,  and  with  more  right,  than  Jacob,  who,  be- 
cause he  is  a  youth  and  a  traveller,  eats  their  bread  and  not 


POLITICS.  109 

In  the  earliest  society  the  proprietors  made  their  own 
wealth,  and  so  long  as  it  comes  to  the  owners  in  the  direct 
way,  no  other  opinion  would  arise  in  any  equitable  .community, 
than  that  property  should  make  the  law  for  property,  and  per- 
sons  the  law  for  persons. 

But  property  passes  through  donation  or  inheritance  to  those 
who  do  not  create  it.  Gift,  in  one  case,  makes  it  as  really  the 
new  owner's,  as  labor  made  it  the  first  owner's :  in  the  other 
case,  of  patrimony,  the  law  makes  an  ownership,  which  will  be 
valid  in  each  man's  view  according  to  the  estimate  which  he 
sets  on  the  public  tranquillity. 

It  was  not,  however,  found  easy  to  embody  the  readily  ad- 
mitted principle,  that  property  should  make  law  for  property, 
and  persons  for  persons :  since  persons  and  property  mixed 
themselves  in  every  transaction.  .At  last  it  seemed  settled, 
that  the  rightful  distinction  was,  that  the  proprietors  should 
have  more  elective  franchise  than  non-proprietors,  on  the 
Spartan  principle  of  "  calling  that  which  is  just,  equal ;  not 
that  which  is  equal,  just." 

That  principle  no  longer  looks  so  self-evident  as  it  appeared 
in  former  times,  parti}-,  because  doubts  have  arisen  whether 
too  much  weight  had  not  been  allowed  in  the  laws  to  prop- 
erty, and  such  a  structure  given  to  our  usages,  as  allowed  the 
rich  to  encroach  on  the  poor,  and  to  keep  them  poor;  but 
mainly,  because  there  is  an  instinctive  sense,  however  obscure 
and  yet  inarticulate,  that  the  whole  constitution  of  property, 
on  its  present  tenures,  is  injurious,  and  its  influence  on  per- 
sons deteriorating  and  degrading ;  that  truly,  the  only  interest 
for  the  consideration  of  the  State,  is  persons :  that  property 
will  always  follow  persons ;  that  the  highest  end  of  govern- 
ment is  the  culture  of  men  :  and  if  men  can  be  educated,  the 
institutions  will  share  their  improvement,  and  the  moral  senti- 
ment will  write  the  law  of  the  land. 

If  it  be  not  easy  to  settle  the  equity  of  this  question,  the 
peril  is  less  when  we  take  note  of  our  natural  defences.  We 
are  kept  by  better  guards  than  the  vigilance  of  such  magis- 
trates as  we  commonly  elect.  Society  always  consists,  in 
greatest  part,  of  young  and  foolish  persons.  The  old,  who 
have  seen  through  the  hypocrisy  of  courts  and  statesmen,  die, 
and  leave  no  wisdom  to  their  sons.  They  b«Ueve  their  own 
newspaper,  as  their  fathers  did  at  their  ag  .  With  such  an 
ignormt  and  deceivable  majority,  States  would  soon  run  to 
ruin,  tut  that  there  are  limitations,  beyond  which  tin-  folly 
and  ambition  of  govei.  ors  cannot  go.  Things  have  their 
laws,  as  well  as  nxn  ,  and  J:iags  refuse  to  be  trifled 


!tt  EMERSON1  a  ESSAYS. 

Property  will  be  protected.  Corn  will  not  grow,  unless  it  is 
planted  and  manured  ;  but  the  farmer  will  not  plant  or  hoe  it, 
unless  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one,  that  he  will  cut  and 
harvest  it.  Under  any  forms,  persons  and  property  must  and 
will  have  their  just  sway.  They  exert  their  power,  as  steadily 
as  matter  its  attraction.  Cover  up  a  pound  of  earth  never  so 
cunningly,  divide  and  subdivide  it;  melt  it  to  liquid,  convert 
it  to  gas ;  it  will  always  weigh  a  pound :  it  will  always  at- 
tract and  resist  other  matter,  by  the  full  virtue  of  one  pound 
weight ; — and  the  attributes  of  a  person,  his  wit  and  his  moral 
energy,  will  exercise,  under  any  law  or  extinguishing  tyranny, 
their  proper  force, — if  not  overtly,  then  covertly  ;  if  not  for 
the  law,  then  against  it ;  with  right,  or  by  might. 

The  boundaries  of  personal  influence  it  is  impossible  to  fix, 
as  persons  are  organs  of  moral  or  supernatural  force.  Under 
the  dominion  of  an  idea,  which  possesses  the  minds  of  multi- 
tudes, as  civil  freedom,  or  tho  religious  sentiment,  the  powers 
of  persons  are  no  longer  subjects  of  calculation.  A  nation  of 
men  unanimously  bent  on  freedom,  or  conquest,  can  easily  con- 
found the  arithmetic  of  statists,  and  achieve  extravagant  ac- 
tions, out  of  all  proportion  to  their  means  ;  as,  the  Greeks,  the 
Saracens,  the  Swiss,  the  Americans,  and  the  French  have 
done. 

In  like  manner,  to  every  particle  of  property  belongs  its  own 
attraction.  A  cent  is  the  representative  of  a  certain  quantity 
of  corn  or  other  commodity.  Its  value  is  in  the  necessities  of 
the  animal  man.  It  is  so  much  warmth,  so  much  bread,  so 
much  water,  so  much  land.  The  law  may  do  what  it  will  with 
the  owner  of  property,  its  just  /)ower  will  still  attach  to  the 
cent.  The  law  may  in  a  mad  freak  say,  that  all  shall  have 
power  except  the  owners  of  property  :  the3r  shall  have  no  vote. 
Nevertheless,  by  a  higher  law,  the  property  will,  year  after 
year,  write  every  statute  that  respects  property.  The  non- 
proprietor  will  be  the  scribe  of  the  proprietor.  What  the 
owners  wish  to  do,  the  whole  power  of  property  will  do,  either 
through  the  law,  or  else  in  defiance  of  it.  Of  course,  I  speak 
of  all  the  property,  not  merely  of  the  great  estates.  When 
the  rich  are  out-voted,  as  frequently  happens,  it  is  the  joint 
treasury  of  the  poor  which  exceeds  their  accumulations. 
Every  man  owns  something,  if  it  is  only  a  cow,  or  a  wheel- 
barrow, or  his  arms,  and  so  has  that  property  to  dispose  of. 

The  same  necessity  which  secures  the  rights  of  person  and 
property  against  the  malignity  or  folly  of  the  magistrate,  de- 
termines the  form  and  methods  of  governing,  which  are  proper 
to  each  nation,  and  to  its  habit  of  thought,  and  nowise  tiara 


POLITICS.  HI 

ferable  to  other  states  of  society.  In  this  country,  we  are 
very  vain  of  our  political  institutions,  which  are  singular  in 
this,  that  they  sprung,  within  the  memory  of  living  men,  from 
the  character  and  condition  of  the  people,  which  they  still  ex- 
press with  sufficient  fidelity, — and  we  ostentatiously  prefer 
them  to  any  other  in  history.  They  are  not  better,  but  only 
fitter  for  us.  We  may  be  wise  in  asserting  the  advantage  in 
modern  times  of  the  democratic  form,  but  to  other  states  of 
society,  in  which  religion  consecrated  the  monarchical,  that 
and  not  this  was  expedient.  Democracy  is  better  for  us,  be- 
cause the  religious  sentiment  of  the  present  time  accords  bet- 
ter with  it.  Born  democrats,  we  are  nowise  qualified  to  judge 
of  monarchy,  which,  to  our  fathers  living  in  the  monarchical 
idea,  was  also  relatively  right.  But  our  institutions,  though 
in  coincidence  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  have  not  any  exemp- 
tion from  the  practical  defects  which  have  discredited  other 
forms.  Every  actual  State  is  corrupt.  Good  men  must  not 
obey  the  laws  too  well.  What  satire  on  government  can  equal 
the  severity  of  censure  conveyed  in  the  word  politic,  which 
now  for  ages  has  signified  cunning,  intimating  that  the  State 
is  a  trick  ? 

The  same  benign  necessity  and  the  same  practical  abuse  ap- 
pear in  the  parties  into  which  each  State  divides  itself,  of  op- 
ponents and  defenders  of  the  administration  of  the  govern- 
ment.  Parties  are  also  founded  on  instincts,  and  have  better 
guides  to  their  own  humble  aims  than  the  sagacity  of  their 
leaders.  They  have  nothing  perverse  in  their  origin,  but 
rudely  mark  some  real  and  lasting  relation.  We  might  as 
wisely  reprove  the  east  wind,  or  the  frost,  as  a  political  party, 
whose  members,  for  the  most  part,  could  give  no  account  of 
their  position,  but  stand  for  the  defence  of  those  interests  in 
which  they  find  themselves.  Our  quarrel  with  them  begins, 
when  they  quit  this  deep  natural  ground  at  the  bidding  of 
some  leader,  and,  obeying  personal  considerations,  throw  them« 
selves  into  the  maintenance  and  defence  of  points,  nowise  be 
longing  to  their  system.  A  party  is  perpetually  corrupted  by 
personality.  Whilst  we  absolve  the  association  from  dishon- 
esty we  cannot  extend  the  same  charity  to  their  leaders.  They 
reap  the  rewards  of  the  docility  and  zeal  of  the  masses  which 
they  direct.  Ordinarily,  our  parties  are  parties  of  circum- 
stance, and  not  of  principle ;  as,  the  planting  interest  in  con- 
flict with  the  commercial ;  the  party  of  capitalists,  and  that  of 
operatives  ;  parties  which  are  identical  in  their  moral  charac- 
ter, and  which  can  easily  change  ground  with  each  other,  in 
support  of  many  of  their  measures.  Parties  of  principle,  as, 


112  EMERSON'S  ESSATTL 

religious  sects,  or  the  party  of  free-trade,  of  universal  suffrage, 
of  abolition  of  slavery,  of  abolition  of  capital  punishment,  de- 
generate into  personalities,  or  would  inspire  enthusiasm.  The 
vice  of  our  leading  parties  in  this  country  (which  may  be 
cited  as  a  fair  specimen  of  these  societies  of  opinion)  is,  that 
thejr  do  not  plant  themselves  on  the  deep  and  necessary 
grounds  to  which  they  are  respectively  entitled,  but  lash 
themselves  to  fury  in  the  carrying  of  some  local  and  momen- 
taiy  measure,  nowise  useful  to  the  commonwealth.  Of  the 
two  great  parties,  which,  at  this  hour,  almost  share  the  nation 
between  them,  I  should  say,  that,  one  has  the  best  cause,  and 
the  other  contains  the  best  men.  The  philosopher,  the  poet, 
or  the  religious  man,  will,  of  course,  wish  to  cast  his  vote 
with  the  democrat,  for  free-trade,  for  wide  suffrage,  for  the 
abolition  of  legal  cruelties  in  the  penal  code,  and  for  facilitat- 
ing in  every  manner  the  access  of  the  young  and  the  poor  tc 
the  sources  of  wealth  and  power.  But  he  can  rarely  accept 
the  persons  whom  the  so-called  popular  party  propose  to  him 
as  representatives  of  these  liberalities.  They  have  not  at 
heart  the  ends  which  give  to  the  name  of  democracy  what  hope 
and  virtue  are  in  it.  The  spirit  of  our  American  radicalism 
is  destructive  and  aimless :  it  is  not  loving  ;  it  has  no  ulterior 
and  divine  ends ;  but  is  destructive  only  out  of  hatred  and 
selfishness.  On  the  other  side,  the  conservative  party,  com- 
posed of  the  most  moderate,  able,  and  cultivated  part  of  the 
population,  is  timid,  and  merely  defensive  of  property.  It 
vindicates  no  right,  it  aspires  to  no  real  good,  it  brands  no 
crime,  it  proposes  no  generous  policy,  it  does  not  build,  nor 
write,  nor  cherish  the  acts,  nor  foster  religion,  nor  establish 
schools,  nor  encourage  science,  nor  emancipate  the  slave,  nor 
befriend  the  poor,  or  the  Indian,  or  the  immigrant.  From 
neither  party,  when  in  power,  has  the  world  any  benefit  to  ex- 
pect  in  science,  art,  or  humanity,  at  all  commensurate  with 
the  resources  of  the  nation. 

I  do  not  for  these  defects  despair  of  our  republic.  We  are 
not  at  the  mercy  of  any  waves  of  chance.  In  the  strife  of 
ferocious  parties,  human  nature  always  finds  itself  cherished, 
as  the  children  of  the  convicts  at  Botany  Bay  are  found  to 
have  as  healthy  a  moral  sentiment  as  other  children.  Citizens 
of  feudal  states  are  alarmed  at  our  democratic  institutions 
lapsing  into  anarchy ;  and  the  older  and  more  cautious  among 
ourselves  are  learning  from  Europeans  to  look  with  some 
terror  at  our  turbulent  freedom.  It  is  said  that  in  our  license 
of  construing  the  Constitution,  and  in  the  despotism  of  pub- 
lic opinion,  we  have  no  anchor;  and  one  foreign  observet 


POLITICS. 


113 


thinks  he  has  ibund  the  safeguard  in  the  sanctity  of  Marriage 
among  us ;  and  another  thinks  he  has  ibund  it  in  our  Calvin- 
ism.  Fisher  Ames  expressed  the  popular  security  more 
wisely,  when  he  compared  a  monarchy  and  a  republic,  saying, 

that  a  monarchy  is  a  merchantman,  which  sails  well,  but 
will  sometimes  strike  on  a  rock,  and  go  to  the  bottom  ;  whilst 
a  republic  is  a  raft,  which  would  never  sink,  but  then  your 
feet  are  always  in  water."  No  forms  can  have  any  dangerous 
importance,  whilst  we  are  befriended  by  the  laws  of  tuings. 
It  makes  no  difference  how  many  tons  weight  of  atmosphere 
presses  on  our  heads,  so  long  as  the  same  pressure  resists  it 
within  the  lungs.  Augment  the  mass  a  thousand  fold,  it  can- 
not  begin  to  crush  us,  as  long  as  reaction  is  equni  to  action. 
The  fact  of  two  poles,  of  two  forces,  centripetal  &nd  centrifu- 
gal, is  universal,  and  each  force  by  its  own  activity  develops 
the  other.  Wild  liberty  develops  iron  conscience.  Want  of 
liberty,  by  strengthening  law  and  decorum,  stupefies  con- 
science. '  Lynch-law '  prevails  only  where  there  is  greater 
hardihood  and  self-subsistency  in  the  leaders.  A  mob  cannot 
be  a  permanency  :  everybody's  interest  requires  that  it  should 
not  exist,  and  only  justice  satisfies  all. 

We  must  trust  infinitely  to  the  beneficent  necessity  which 
shines  through  all  laws.  Human  nature  expresses  itself  in 
them  as  characteristically  as  in  statues,  or  songs,  or  railroads, 
and  an  abstract  of  the  codes  of  nations  would  be  a  transcript 
of  the  common  conscience.  Governments  have  their  origin 
in  the  moral  identity  of  men.  Reason  for  one  is  seen  to  be 
reason  for  another,  and  for  every  other.  There  is  a  middle 
measure  which  satisfies  all  parties,  "be  they  never  so  many,  or 
so  resolute  for  their  own.  Every  man  finds  a  sanction  for  his 
simplest  claims  and  deeds  in  decisions  of  his  own  mind,  which 
he  calls  Truth  and  Holiness.  In  these  decisions  all  the  cit- 
izens find  a  perfect  agreement,  and  only  in  these ;  not  hi  what 
is  good  to  eat,  good  to  wear,  good  use  of  time,  or  what 
amount  of  land,  or  of  public  aid,  each  is  entitled  to  claim. 
This  truth  and  justice  men  presently  endeavor  to  make  appli- 
cation of,  to  the  measuring  of  land,  the  apportionment  of  ser- 
vice, the  protection  of  life  and  property.  Their  first  endeav- 
ors, no  doubt,  are  very  awkward.  Yet  absolute  right  is  the 
first  governor ;  or,  every  government  is  an  impure  theocracy. 
The  idea,  after  which  each  community  is  aiming  to  make  and 
mend  its  law,  is,  the  will  of  tho  wife  man.  Tin-  \\isi-  man,  it 
cannot  find  in  nature,  and  it  makes  awkward  but  earnest 
sfforts  to  secure  his  government  by  contrivance;  as,  by  caua* 
ing  the  entire  people  to  give  their  voices  on  every 


114  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

or,  by  a  double  choice  to  get  the  representation  of  the  whole; 
or,  by  a  selection  of  the  best  citizens ;  or,  to  secure  the  ad  van. 
tages  of  efficiency  and  internal  peace,  by  confiding  the  gov- 
ernment to  one,  who  may  himself  select  his  agents.  All  forms 
of  government  symbolize  an  immortal  government,  common 
to  all  dynasties  and  independent  of  numbers,  perfect  where 
two  men  exist,  perfect  where  there  is  only  one  man. 

Every  man's  nature  is  a  sufficient  advertisement  to  him  of 
the  character  of  his  fellows.  My  right  and  my  wrong,  is  their 
right  and  their  wrong.  Whilst  I  do  what  is  fit  for  me,  and 
abstain  from  what  is  unfit,  my  neighbor  and  I  shall  often 
agree  in  our  means,  and  work  together  for  a  time  to  one  end. 
But  whenever  I  find  my  dominion  over  myself  not  sufficient 
for  me,  and  undertake  the  direction  of  him  also,  I  overstep 
the  truth,  and  come  into  false  relations  to  him.  I  may  have 
bo  much  more  skill  or  strength  than  he,  that  he  cannot  ex- 
press adequately  his  sense  of  wrong,  but  it  is  a  lie,  and  hurts 
like  a  lie  both  him  and  me.  Love  and  nature  cannot  maintain 
the  assumption  :  it  must  be  executed  by  a  practical  lie, 
namely,  by  force.  This  undertaking  for  another,  is  the  blun- 
der which  stands  in  colossal  ugliness  in  the  governments  of 
the  world.  It  is  the  same  thing  in  numbers,  as  in  a  pair,  only 
not  quite  so  intelligible.  I  can  see  well  enough  a  great  differ- 
ence between  my  setting  myself  down  to  a  self-control,  and 
my  going  to  make  somebody  else  act  after  my  views :  but 
when  a  quarter  of  the  human  race  assume  to  tell  me  what  I 
must  do,  I  may  be  too  much  disturbed  by  the  circumstances 
to  see  so  clearly  the  absurdity  of  their  command.  Therefore, 
all  public  ends  look  vague  and  quixotic  beside  private  ones. 
For,  any  laws  but  those  which  men  make  for  themselves,  are 
laughable.  If  I  put  myself  in  the  place  of  my  child,  and  we 
stand  in  one  thought,  and  see  that  things  are  thus  or  thus, 
that  perception  is  law  for  him  and  me.  We  are  both  there, 
both  act.  But  if,  without  carrying  him  into  the  thought,  I 
look  over  into  his  plot,  and,  guessing  how  it  is  with  him,  or- 
dain this  or  that,  he  will  never  obey  me.  This  is  the  history 
of  governments, — one  man  does  something  which  is  to  bind 
another.  A  man  who  cannot  be  acquainted  with  me,  taxes 
me ;  looking  from  afar  at  me,  ordains  that  a  part  of  my  labor 
shall  go  to  this  or  that  whimsical  end,  not  as  I,  but  as  he  hap- 
pens to  fancy.  Behold  the  consequence.  Of  all  debts,  men 
are  least  willing  to  pay  the  taxes.  What  a  satire  is  this  on 
government  1  Everywhere  they  think  they  get  their  money's 
vorth,  except  for  these. 

Hence,  the  less  government  we  have,  the  better,— the  fewer 


POLITICS.  118 

laws,  and  the  less  confided  power.  The  antidote  to  this  abuse 
of  formal  Government,  is,  the  influence  of  private  character 
the  growth  of  the  Individual ;  the  appearance  of  the  principal 
to  supersede  the  proxy  ;  the  appearance  of  the  wise  man,  of 
whom  the  existing  government,  is,  it  must  be  owned,  but  a 
shabby  imitation.  That  which  all  things  tend  to  educe,  which 
freedom,  cultivation,  intercourse,  revolutions,  go  to  form  and 
deliver,  is  character ;  that  is  the  end  of  nature,  to  reach  unto 
this  coronation  of  her  king.  To  educate  the  wise  man,  the 
State  exists;  and  with  the  appearance  of  the  wise  man,  the 
State  expires.  The  appearance  of  character  makes  the  State 
unnecessary.  The  wise  man  is  the  State.  He  needs  no  army, 
fort,  or  navy, — he  loves  men  too  well ;  no  bribe,  or  feast,  or 
palace,  to  draw  friends  to  him  ;  no  vantage  ground,  no  favora- 
ble circumstance.  He  needs  no  library,  for  he  has  not  done 
thinking  ;  no  church,  for  he  is  a  prophet ;  no  statute  book,  for 
he  has  the  law-giver  ;  no  money,  for  he  is  value ;  no  road,  for 
he  is  at  home  where  he  is  ;  no  experience,  for  the  life  of  the 
creator  shoots  through  him,  and  looks  from  his  eyes.  He  has 
no  personal  friends,  for  he  who  has  the  spell  to  draw  the 
prayer  and  piety  of  all  men  unto  him,  needs  not  husband  and 
educate  a  few,  to  share  with  him  a  select  and  poetic  life.  His 
relation  to  men  is  angelic  ;  his  memory  is  myrrh  to  them ;  his 
presence,  frankincense  and  flowers. 

We  think  our  civilization  near  its  meridian,  but  we  are  yet 
only  at  the  cock-crowing  and  the  morning  star.  In  our  bar. 
barons  society  the  influence  of  character  is  in  its  infancy.  As 
a  political  power,  as  the  rightful  lord  who  is  to  tumble  all 
rulers  from  their  chairs,  its  presence  is  hardly  yet  suspected. 
Malthus  and  Ricardo  quite  omit  it;  the  Annual  Register  is 
silent ;  in  the  Conversations'  Lexicon,  it  is  not  set  down  ;  the 
President's  Message,  the  Queen's  Speech,  have  not  mentioned 
it ;  and  yet  it  is  never  nothing.  Every  thought  which  genius 
and  piety  throw  into  the  world,  alters  the  world.  The  gladia- 
tors in  the  lists  of  power  feel,  through  all  their  frocks  of  force 
and  simulation,  the  presence  of  worth.  I  think  the  very  strife 
of  trade  and  ambition  are  confession  of  this  divinity ;  and  suc- 
cesses in  those  fields  are  the  poor  amends,  the  fig-leaf  with 
which  the  shamed  soul  attempts  to  hide  its  nakedness.  I  find 
the  like  unwilling  homage  in  all  quarters.  It  is  because  we 
know  how  much  is  due  from  us,  that  we  are  impatient  to  show 
some  petty  talent  as  a  substitute  for  worth.  We  are  haunted 
by  a  conscience  of  this  right  to  grandeur  of  character,  an- 1  .-ire 
felse  to  it.  But  each  of  us  has  some  talent,  can  do  somewhat 
Useful,  or  graceful,  or  formidable,  or  amusing,  or  lucrative. 


116  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

That  we  do,  as  an  apology  to  others  and  to  ourselves,  for  not 
reaching  the  mark  of  a  good  and  equal  life.  But  it  does  not 
satisfy  »s,  whilst  we  thrust  it  on  the  notice  of  our  companions. 
It  may  throw  dust  in  their  eyes,  but  does  not  smooth  our  own 
brow,  or  give  us  the  tranquillity  of  the  strong  when  we  walk 
abroad.  We  do  penance  as  we  go.  Our  talent  is  a  sort  of  ex- 
piation, and  we  are  constrained  to  reflect  on  our  splendid  mo- 
ment, with  a  certain  humiliation,  as  somewhat  too  line,  and  not 
as  one  act  of  many  acts,  a  fair  expression  of  our  permanent  en- 
ergy. Most  persons 'of  ability  meet  in  society  with  a  kind  of 
tacit  appeal.  Each  seems  to  say, '  I  am  not  all  here.'  Sena- 
tors and  presidents  have  climbed  so  high  with  pain  enough, 
not  because  they  think  the  place  specially  agreeable,  but  as  an 
apology  for  real  worth,  and  to  vindicate  their  manhood  in  our 
eyes.  This  conspicuous  chair  is  their  compensation  to  them- 
selves for  being  of  a  poor,  cold,  hard  nature.  They  must  do 
what  they  can.  Like  one  class  of  forest  animals,  they  have 
nothing  but  a  prehensile  tail :  climb  they  must,  or  crawl.  If 
a  man  found  himself  so  rich-nut u  red  that  he  could  enter  into 
strict  relations  with  the  best  persons,  and  make  life  serene 
around  him  by  the  dignity  and  sweetness  of  his  behavior, 
could  he  afford  to  circumvent  the  favor  of  the  caucus  and  the 
press,  and  covet  relations  so  hollow  and  pompous,  as  those  of 
a  politician  ?  Surely  nobody  would  be  a  charlatan,  who  could 
afford  to  be  sincere. 

The  tendencies  of  the  times  favor  the  idea  of  self-govern- 
ment, and  leave  the  individual,  for  all  code,  to  the  rewards  and 
penalties  of  his  own  constitution,  which  work  with  more  energy 
than  we  believe,  whilst  we  depend  on  artificial  restraints.  The 
movement  in  this  direction  has  been  very  marked  in  modern 
history.  Much  has  been  blind  and  discreditable,  but  the  nature 
of  the  revolution  is  not  affected  by  the  vices  of  the  revolters ; 
for  this  is  a  purely  moral  force.  It  was  never  adopted  by  any 
party  in  history,  neither  can  be.  It  separates  the  individual 
from  all  party,  and  unites  him,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  race, 
It  promises  a  recognition  of  higher  rights  than  those  of  per- 
sonal freedom,  or  the  security  of  propert}r.  A  man  has  a  right 
to  be  employed,  to  be  trusted,  to  be  loved,  to  be  revered.  The 
power  of  love,  as  the  basis  of  a  State,  has  never  been  tried. 
We  must  not  imagine  that  all  things  are  lasping  into  confusion, 
if  every  tender  protestant  be  not  compelled  to  bear  his  part  in 
certain  social  conventions :  nor  doubt  that  roads  can  be  built, 
letters  carried,  and  the  fruit  of  labor  secured,  when  the  gov- 
ernment of  force  is  at  an  end.  Are  our  methods  now  so  ex- 
oellent  that  all  competition  is  hopeless  ?  Could  not  a  natiot 


POLITICS.  in 

Of  friends  even  devise  better  ways?  On  the  other  hand,  let 
not  the  most  conservative  and  timid  fear  anything  from  a  pre- 
mature surrender  of  the  bayonet,  and  the  system  of  force. 
For,  according  to  the  order  of  nature,  which  is  quite  superior 
to  our  will,  it  stands  thus ;  there  will  always  be  a  government 
of  force,  where  men  are  selfish;  and  when  they  are  pure 
enough  to  abjure  the  code  offeree,  they  will  be  wise  enough  to 
see  how  these  public  ends  of  the  post-office,  of  the  highway,  ot_ 
commerce,  and  the  exchange  of  property,  of  museums  and 
libraries,  of  institutions  of  art  and  science,  can  be  answered. 

We  live  in  a  very  low  state  of  the  world,  and  pay  unwill- 
ing tribute  to  governments  founded  on  force.  There  is  not, 
among  the  most  religious  and  instructed  men  of  the  most 
religious  and  civil  nations,  a  reliance  on  the  moral  sentiment, 
and  a  sufficient  belief  in  the  unity  of  things  to  persuade  them 
that  society  can  be  maintained  without  artificial  restraints,  as 
well  as  the  solar  system ;  or  that  the  private  citizen  might  be 
reasonable,  and  a  good  neighbor,  without  the  hint  of  a  jail  or 
a  confiscation.  What  is  strange  too,  there  never  was  in  any 
man  sufficient  faith  in  the  power  of  rectitude,  to  inspire  him 
with  the  broad  design  of  renovating  the  State  on  the  princi- 
ple of  right  and  love.  All  those  who  have  pretended  this  de- 
sign, have  been  partial  reformers,  and  have  admitted  in  some 
manner  the  supremacy  of  the  bad  State.  I  do  not  call  to  mind 
a  single  human  being  who  has  steadily  denied  the  authority  of 
the  laws,  on  the  simple  ground  of  his  own  moral  nature.  Such 
designs,  full  of  genius  and  full  of  fate  as  they  are,  are  not  en- 
tertained except  avowedly  as  air-pictures.  If  the  individual 
who  exhibits  them,  dare  to  think  them  practicable,  he  disgusts 
scholars  and  churchmen  ;  and  men  of  talent,  and  women  of 
superior  sentiments,  cannot  hide  their  contempt.  Not  the  less 
does  nature  continue  to  fill  the  heart  of  youth  with  suggesting 
of  this  enthusiasm,  and  there  are  now  men, — if  indeed  I  can 
speak  in  the  plural  number, — more  exactly,  I  will  say,  I  have 
just  been  conversing  with  one  man,  to  whom  no  weight  of  ad- 
verse experience  will  make  it  for  a  moment  appear  impossible, 
that  thousands  of  human  beings  might  exercise  towards  each 
other  the  grandest  and  simplest  sentiments,  aa  well  as  a  knot 
of  friends,  or  a  pair  of  lovers. 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST, 


In  countless  upward-striving  waves 

The  moon-dawn  tide-wave  strives; 

In  thousand  far- transplanted  grafts 

The  parent  fruit  survives  ; 

So,  in  the  new-born  millions, 

The  perfect  Adam  lives. 

Not  less  are  summer-mornings  dear 

To  every  child  they  wake, 

And  each  with  novel  life  his  sphere 

Fills  for  his  proper  sake. 


ESSAY  via 

KOMINALIST  AND  REAUSt. 


i  CANNOT  often  enough  say,  that  a  man  is  only  a  relative 
and  representative  nature.  Each  ts  a  hint  of  the  truth,  but 
far  enough  from  being  that  truth,  which  yet  he  quite  newly 
and  inevitably  suggests  to  us.  If  I  seek  it  in  him,  I  shall  not 
find  it.  Could  any  man  conduct  into  me  tbe  pure  stream  of 
that  which  he  pretends  to  be !  Long  afterwards,  I  find  that 
quality  elsewhere  which  he  promised  me.  The  genius  of  the 
Platonists,  is  intoxicating  to  the  student,  yet  how  few  par- 
ticulars  of  it  can  I  detach  from  all  their  books.  The  man  mo- 
mentarily stands  for  the  thought,  but  will  not  bear  examina- 
tion ;  and  a  society  of  men  will  cursorily  represent  well 
enough  a  certain  quality  and  culture,  for  example,  chivalry  or 
beauty  of  manners,  but  separate  them,  and  there  is  no  gentle- 
man and  no  lady  in  the  group.  The  least  hint  sets  us  on  the 
pursuit  of  a  character,  which  no  man  realizes.  We  have  such 
exorbitant  eyes,  that  on  seeing  the  smallest  arc,  we  complete 
the  curve,  and  when  the  curtain  is  lifted  from  the  diagram 
which  it  seemed  to  veil,  we  are  vexed  to  find  that  no  more  was 
drawn,  than  just  that  fragment  of  an  arc  which  we  first  be- 
held. We  are  greatly  too  liberal  in  our  construction  of  each 
other's  faculty  and  promise.  Exactly  what  the  parties  have 
already  done,  they  shall  do  again  ;  but  that  which  we  inferred 
from  their  nature  and  inception,  they  will  not  do.  That  is  in  na- 
ture, but  not  in  them.  That  happens  in  the  world,  which  we 
often  witness  in  a  public  debate.  Each  of  the  speakers  ex- 
presses himself  imperfectly  :  no  one  of  them  hears  much  thni 
another  says,  such  is  the  preoccupation  of  mind  of  each;  and 
the  audience,  who  have  only  to  hear  and  not  to  speak,  jmliro 
very  wisely  and  superiority  how  wrongheaded  and  unskilful  is 
each  of  the  debaters  to  his  own  affair.  Great  men  or  men  of 
great  gifts  you  shall  easily  find,  but  symmetrical  men  nevei 
Whei  I  meet  a  pure  intellectual  force,  or  a  Lr< •"« T. -sity  of  aft 
fection.  I  believe,  here  then  is  man  ;  and  am  presently  morti- 
fied by  the  discovery,  that  this  individual  is  no  more  avsul.-iMu 
to  his  own  or  to  the  general  ends,  than  his  companions  ;  bo 
jttuse  the  pow«r  which  drew  my  respect  is  not  supported  by 


am  EMERSO.WS  ESSAYS. 

the  total  .ymphony  of  his  talents.  All  persons  exist  to  society 
by  some  shining  trait  of  beauty  or  utility,  which  they  havfi 
We  borrow  the  proportions  of  the  man  from  that  one  fioa 
feature,  and  finish  the  portrait  symmetrically  ;  which  is  false ; 
for  the  rest  of  his  body  is  small  or  deformed.  I  observe  a  per- 
son who  makes  a  good  public  appearance,  and  conclude  thenea 
the  perfection  of  his  private  character,  on  which  this  is  based  j 
but  he  has  no  private  character.  He  is  a  graceful  cloak  G£ 
iay-figure  for  holidays.  All  our  poets,  heroes,  and  saints,  fai\ 
utterly  in  some  one  or  in  many  parts  to  satisfy  our  idea,  fat:' 
to  draw  our  spontaneous  interest,  and  so  leave  us  without  air? 
hope  of  realization  but  in  our  own  future.  Our  exaggeration 
of  all  fine  characters  arises  from  the  fact,  that  we  identify 
each  in  turn  with  the  souL  But  there  are  no  such  men  as  w«3 
fable ;  nor  Jesus, nor  Pericles,  nor  Caesar,  nor  Angelo,  nor  Wasfe 
ington,  such  as  we  have  made.  We  consecrate  a  great  deal  of 
nonsense,  because  it  was  allowed  by  great  men.  There  is  nona 
without  his  foible.  I  verily  believe  if  an  angel  should  come  to 
chaunt  the  chorus  of  the  moral  law,  he  would  eat  too  much 
gingerbread,  or  take  liberties  with  private  letters,  or  do  some 
precious  atrocity.  It  is  bad  enough,  that  our  geniuses  cannot 
do  anything  useful,  but  it  is  worse  that  no  man  is  fit  for  so- 
ciety, who  has  fine  traits.  He  is  admired  at  a  distance,  but  he 
cannot  come  near  without  appearing  a  cripple.  The  men  of  fine 
parts  protect  themselves  by  solitude,  or  by  courtesy,  or  by 
satire,  or  by  an  acid  worldly  manner,  each  concealing,  as  he 
best  can,  his  incapacity  for  useful  association,  but  they  want 
either  love  or  seL-reliance. 

Our  native  love  of  reality  joins  with  this  experience  to 
teach  us  a  little  reserve,  and  to  dissuade  a  too  sudden  sur- 
render to  the  brilliant  qualities  of  persons.  Young  people  ad 
mire  talents  or  particular  excellences  ;  as  we  grow  older,  we 
value  total  powers  and  effects,  as,  the  impression,  the  quality, 
the  spirit  of  men  and  things.  The  genius  is  all.  The  man, 
—it  is  his  system :  we  do  not  try  a  solitary  word  or  act,  but 
his  habit.  The  acts  which  you  praise,  I  praise  not,  since  they 
are  departures  from  his  faith,  and  are  mere  compliances.  The 
magnetism  which  arranges  tribes  and  races  in  one  polarity,  is 
alone  to  be  respected ;  the  men  are  steel-filings.  Yet  we  un- 
justly select  a  particle,  and  say,  *  0  steel-filing  number  one  I 
what  heart-drawings  I  feel  to  thee !  what  prodigious  virtues 
are  these  of  thine !  how  constitutional  to  thee,  and  incom- 
municable.5 Whilst  we  speak,  the  loadstone  is  withdrawn  ; 
down  falls  our  filing  in  a  heap  with  the  rest,  and  we  continue 
gar  mummery  to  the  wretched  shaving.  Let  us  go  for  uni 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST.  123 

versals  ;  for  the  magnetism,  not  for  the  needles.  Human  life 
and  its  persons  are  poor  empirical  pretensions.  A  personal  in- 
fluence is  an  ignis  fatuus.  If  they  say,  it  is  great,  it  is  great , 
if  they  say,  it  is  small,  it  is  small ;  you  see  it,  and  you  see  it 
not,  by  turns ;  it  borrows  all  its  size  from  the  momentary  es- 
timation of  the  speakers:  the  Will-of-the-wisp  vanishes,  if  you 
go  too  near,  vanishes  if  you  go  too  far,  and  only  blazes  at  one 
angle.  Who  can  tell  if  Washington  be  a  great  man,  or  no  f 
Who  can  tell  if  Franklin  be  ?  Yes,  or  any  but  the  twelve,  or 
six,  or  three  great  gods  A  fame  ?  And  they,  too,  loom  and 
fade  before  the  eternal. 

We  are  amphibious  creatures,  weaponed  for  two  elements, 
having  two  sets  of  faculties,  the  particular  and  the  catholic 
We  adjust  our  instrument  for  general  observation,  and  sweep 
the  heavens  as  easily  as  we  pick  out  a  single  figure  in  the  ter- 
restrial  landscape.  We  are  practically  skilful  in  detecting  ele- 
ments, for  which  we  have  no  place  in  our  theory,  and  no  name. 
Thus  we  are  very  sensible  of  an  atmospheric  influence  in  men 
and  in  bodies  of  men,  not  accounted  for  in  an  arithmetical  ad- 
dition t  all  their  measurable  properties.  There  is  a  genius 
of  a  nation,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  numerical  citizens, 
but  which  characterizes  the  society.  England,  strong,  punc- 
tual, practical,  well-spoken  England,  I  should  not  find,  if  I 
should  go  to  the  island  to  seek  it.  In  the  parliament,  in  the 
playhouse,  at  dinner-tables,  I  might  see  a  great  number  of 
rich,  ignorant,  book-read,  conventional,  proud  men, — many  old 
women, — and  not  anywhere  the  Englishman  who  made  the 
good  speeches,  combined  the  accurate  engines,  and  did  the 
bold  and  nervous  deeds.  It  is  even  worse  in  America,  where, 
from  the  intellectual  quickness  o*  the  race,  the  genius  of  the 
country  is  more  splendid  in  its  promise,  and  more  slight  in  its 
performance.  Webster  cannot  do  the  work  of  Webster.  We 
conceive  distinctly  enough  the  French,  the  Spanish,  the  Ger- 
man genius,  and  it  is  not  the  less  real,  that  perhaps  we  should 
not  meet  in  either  of  those  nations,  a  single  individual  who 
corresponded  with  the  type.  We  infer  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
in  great  measure  from  the  language,  which  is  a  sort  of  monu- 
ment, to  which  each  forcible  individual  in  a  course  of  many 
hundred  years  has  contributed  a  stone.  And,  universally,  a 
good  example  of  this  social  force,  is  the  veracity  of  language, 
which  cannot  be  debauched.  In  any  controversy  concerning 
jnorals,  an  appeal  may  be  made  with  safety  to  the  sentiments, 
which  the  language  of  the  people  expresses.  Proverbs,  words, 
and  grammar  inflections  convey  the  public  sense  with  more 
purity  and  precision,  than  the  wisest  individual 


VH  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

In  the  famous  dispute  with  the  Nominalists,  the  Realists 
had  a  good  deal  of  reason.  General  ideas  are  essences.  They 
are  our  gods  :  they  round  and  ennoble  the  most  partial  and 
sordid  way  of  living.  Our  proclivity  to  details  cannot  quite 
degrade  our  life,  and  divest  it  of  poetry.  The  day -laborer  is 
reckoned  as  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  social  scale,  yet  he  is 
saturated  with  the  laws  of  the  world.  His  measures  are  the 
hours ;  morning  and  night,  solstice  and  equinox,  geometry, 
astronomy,  and  all  the  lovely  accidents  of  nature  play  through 
his  mind.  Money,  which  represents  the  prose  of  lite,  and 
which  is  hardly  spoken  of  in  parlors  without  an  apology,  is, 
m  its  effects  and  laws,  as  beautiful  as  roses.  Property  keeps 
the  accounts  of  the  world,  and  is  always  moral.  The  property 
will  be  found  where  the  labor,  the  wisdom,  and  the  virtue  have 
been  in  nations,  in  classes,  and  (the  whole  lifetime  considered, 
with  the  compensations)  in  the  individual  also.  How  wise  the 
world  appears,  when  the  laws  and  usages  of  nations  are  largely 
detailed,  and  the  completeness  of  the  municipal  system  is  con- 
sidered I  Nothing  is  left  out.  If  you  go  into  the  markets, 
and  the  custom-houses,  the  insurers'  and  notaries'  offices,  the 
offices  of  sealers  of  weights  and  measures,  of  inspection  of 
provisions, — it  will  appear  as  if  one  man  had  made  it  alL 
Wherever  you  go,  a  wit  like  your  own  has  been  before  you, 
and  has  realized  its  thought.  The  Eleusinian  mysteries,  the 
Egyptian  architecture,  the  Indian  astronom}',  the  Greek  sculp- 
ture, show  that  there  always  were  seeing  and  knowing  men  in 
the  planet.  The  world  is  full  of  masonic  ties,  of  guilds,  of 
secret  and  public  legions  of  honor ;  that  of  scholars,  for  ex- 
ample ;  and  that  of  gentlemen  fraternizing  with  the  upp« 
class  of  every  country  and  every  culture. 

I  am  very  much  struck  in  literature  by  the  appearance,  that 
one  person  wrote  all  the  books  ;  as  if  the  editor  f  a  journal 
planted  his  body  of  reporters  in  different  parts  of  the  field  of 
action,  and  relieved  some  by  others  from  time  to  time ;  but 
there  is  such  equality  and  identity  both  of  judgment  and  point 
of  view  in  the  narrative,  that  it  is  plainly  the  work  of  one  all- 
seeing,  all-hearing  gentleman.  I  looked  into  Pope's  Odyssey 
yesterday  :  it  is  as  correct  and  elegant  after  our  canon  of  to- 
day, as  if  it  were  newly  written.  The  modernness  of  all  good 
books  seems  to  give  me  an  existence  as  wide  as  man.  What 
is  well  done,  I  feel  as  if  I  did ;  what  is  ill-done,  I  reck  not  of 
Shakspeare's  passages  of  passion  (for  example,  in  Lear  and 
Hamlet)  are  in  the  very  dialect  of  the  present  year.  I  am 
faithful  again  to  the  whole  over  the  members  in  my  use  of 
lxx>ks,  I  find  the  most  pleasure  in  reading  a  book  in  a  ma» 


SOMWALIST  AND  REALIST,  199 

ner  least  flattering  to  the  fiuthor.  I  read  Proclus,  and  some 
times  Plato,  as  I  might  read  a  dictionary,  for  a  mechanical 
help  to  the  fancy  and  the  imagination.  I  read  for  the  lustre*, 
as  if  one  should  use  a  fine  picture  in  a  chromatic  experiment, 
for  its  rich  colors.  'Tis  not  Proclus,  but  a  piece  of  nature  and 
fete  that  I  explore.  It  is  a  greater  joy  to  see  the  author's 
author,  than  himself.  A  higher  pleasure  of  the  same  kind  I 
found  lately  at  a  concert,  where  I  went  to  hear  Handel's  Mes- 
•iah.  As  the  master  overpowered  the  littleness  and  incapable- 
ness  of  the  performers,  and  made  them  conductors,  of  his 
electricity,  so  it  was  easy  to  observe  what  efforts  nature  was 
making  through  so  many  hoarse,  wooden,  and  imperfect  per- 
sons, to  produce  beautiful  voices,  fluid  and  soul-guided  men 
»nd  women.  The  genius  of  nature  was  paramount  at  tht 
oratorio. 

This  preference  of  the  genius  to  the  parts  is  the  secret  of 
that  deification  of  art,  which  is  found  in  all  superior  minds. 
Art,  in  the  artist,  is  proportion,  or,  a  habitual  respect  to  the 
irhole  by  an  eye  loving  beauty  in  details.  And  the  wonder 
and  charm  of  it  is  the  sanity  in  insanity  which  it  denotes. 
Proportion  is  almost  impossible  to  human  beings.  There  is 
no  one  who  does  not  exaggerate.  In  conversation,  men  are 
encumbered  with  personality,  and  talk  too  much.  In  modern 
sculpture,  picture,  and  poetry,  the  beauty  is  miscellaneous; 
the  artist  works  here  and  there,  and  at  all  points,  adding  and 
adding,  instead  of  unfolding  the  unit  of  his  thought.  Beau- 
*;ful  details  we  must  have,  or  no  artist:  but  they  must  be 
means  and  never  other.  The  eye  must  not  lose  sight  for  a 
moment  of  the  purpose.  Lively  boys  write  to  their  ear  and 
eye,  and  the  cool  reader  finds  nothing  but  sweet  jingles  in  it. 
When  they  grow  older,  they  respect  the  argument. 

We  obey  the  same  intellectual  integrity,  when  we  study  in 
exceptions  the  law  of  the  world.  Anomalous  facts,  as  the 
never  quite  obsolete  rumors  of  magic  and  demonology,and  the 
new  allegations  of  phrenologists  and  neurologists,  are  of  ideal 
use.  They  are  good  indications.  Homoeopathy  is  insiirni'*- 
cant  as  an  art  of  healing,  but  of  great  value  as  criticism  on 
the  hygeia  or  medical  practice  of  the  time.  So  with  Mesmer- 
ism, Sweden borgism,  Fourierism,  and  the  Millennial  Church  ; 
they  are  poor  pretensions  enough,  but  good  criticism  on  the 
science,  philosophy,  and  preaching  of  the  day.  For  these 
abnormal  insights  of  the  adepts,  ought  to  I*  normal,  and 
things  of  course. 

All  things  show  us,  that  on  every  side  we  are  very  near  to 
the  best  U  seems  not  worth  while  to  execute  with  too  muck 


126  EMERSON1 8  ESSAY& 

pains  some  one  intellectual,  or  aesthetical,  or  civil  feat, 
presently  the  dream  will  scatter,  and  we  shall  burst  into  uni- 
versal power.  The  reason  of  idleness  and  of  crime  is  the  de« 
ferring  of  our  hopes.  Whilst  we  are  waiting,  we  beguile  the 
time  with  jokes,  with  sleep,  with  eating,  and  with  crimes. 

Thus  we  settle  in  our  cool  libraries,  that  all  the  agents  with 
which  we  deal  are  subalterns,  which  we  can  well  afford  to  let 
pass,  and  life  will  be  simpler  when  we  live  at  the  centre,  and 
flout  the  surfaces.  I  wish  to  speak  with  all  respect  of  persons, 
but  sometimes  I  must  pinch  myself  to  keep  awake,  and  pre- 
serve the  due  decorum.  They  melt  so  fast  into  each  other, 
that  they  are  like  grass  and  trees,  and  it  needs  an  effort  to 
treat  them  as  individuals.  Though  the  uninspired  man  cer- 
tainly  finds  persons  a  conveniency  in  household  matters,  the 
divine  man  does  not  respect  them  :  he  sees  them  as  a  rack  of 
clouds,  or  a  fleet  of  ripples  which  the  wind  drives  over  the 
surface  of  the  water.  But  this  is  flat  rebellion.  Nature  will 
not  be  Buddhist :  she  resents  generalizing,  and  insults  the 
philosopher  in  every  moment  with  a  million  of  fresh  particu- 
lars. It  is  all  idle  talking  :  as  much  as  a  man  is  a  whole,  so 
is  he  also  a  part;  and  it  were  partial  not  to  see  it.  What  you 
say  in  your  pompous  distribution  only  distributes  you  into 
your  class  and  section.  You  have  not  got  rid  of  parts  by 
denying  them,  but  are  the  more  partial.  You  are  one  thing, 
but  nature  is  one  thing  and  the  other  thing,  in  the  same  mo- 
ment. She  will  not  remain  orbed  in  a  thought,  but  rushes 
into  persons  ;  and  when  each  person,  inflamed  to  a  fury  of  per- 
sonality, would  conquer  all  things  to  his  poor  crotchet,  she 
raises  up  against  him  another  person,  and  by  many  persons 
Incarnates  again  a  sort  of  whole.  She  will  have  all.  Nick 
Bottom  cannot  play  all  the  parts,  work  it  how  he  may  :  there 
will  be  somebody  else,  and  the  world  will  be  round.  Every- 
thing must  have  its  flower  or  effort  at  the  beautiful,  coarser  or 
finer  according  to  its  stuff.  They  relieve  and  recommend  each 
other,  and  the  sanity  of  society  is  a  balance  of  a  thousand  in- 
sanities. She  punishes  abstractionists,  and  will  only  forgive 
an  induction  which  is  rare  and  casual.  We  like  to  come  to  a 
height  of  land  and  see  the  landscape,  just  as  we  value  a 
general  remark  in  conversation.  But  it  is  not  the  intention 
of  nature  that  we  should  live  by  general  views.  We  fetch  fire 
and  water,  run  about  all  day  among  the  shops  and  markets, 
and  get  our  clothes  and  shoes  made  and  mended,  and  are  the 
victims  of  these  details,  and  once  in  a  fortnight  we  arrive  per- 
fcaps  at  a  rational  moment.  If  we  were  not  thus  infatuated. 


AffL  REALIST.  19} 

&  we  saw  the  real  from  hour  to  hour,  we  should  not  be  here  to 
write  and  to  read,  but  should  have  been  burned  or  frozen  long 
ago.  She  would  never  get  anything  done,  if  she  suffered 
admirable  Crichtons,  and  universal  geniuses.  She  loves  bet- 
ter a  wheelwright  who  dreams  all  night  of  wheels,  and  a 
groom  who  is  part  of  his  horse :  for  she  is  full  of  work,  and 
these  are  her  hands.  As  the  frugal  farmer  takes  care  that  his 
cattle  shall  eat  down  the  rowan,  and  swine  shall  eat  the  waste 
of  his  house,  and  poultry  shall  pick  the  crumbs,  so  our  econom- 
ical mother  despatches  a  new  genius  and  habit  of  mind  into 
every  district  and  condition  o,.  existence,  plants  an  eye  where- 
ever  a  new  ray  of  light  can  fall,  and  gathering  up  into  some 
man  every  property  in  the  universe,  establishes  thousandfold 
occult  mutual  attractions  among  her  offspring,  that  all  this 
wash  and  waste  of  power  may  be  imparted  and  exchanged. 

Great  dangers  undoubtedly  accrue  from  this  incarnation  and 
distribution  of  the  godhead,  and  hence  nature  has  her  malign, 
ers,  as  if  she  were  Circe ;  and  Alphonso  of  Castille  fancied  he 
could  have  given  useful  advice.  But  she  does  not  go  unpro- 
vided ;  she  has  hellebore  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup.  Solitude 
would  ripen  a  plentiful  crop  of  despots.  The  recluse  thinks 
of  men  as  having  his  manner,  or  as  not  having  his  manner ; 
and  as  having  degrees  of  it,  more  and  less.  But  when  he 
comes  into  a  public  assembly,  he  sees  that  men  have  very  dif- 
ferent manners  from  his  own,  and  in  their  way  admirable.  In 
his  childhood  and  youth,  he  has  had  many  checks  and  cen- 
sures, and  thinks  modestly  enough  of  his  own  endowment. 
When  afterwards  he  comes  to  unfold  it  in  propitious  circum- 
stance, it  seems  the  only  talent :  he  is  delighted  with  his  suc- 
cess, and  accounts  himself  already  the  fellow  of  the  great. 
But  he  goes  into  a  mob,  into  a  banking-house,  into  a  mechanic's 
shop,  into  a  mill,  into  a  laboratory,  into  a  ship,  into  a  camp, 
and  in  each  new  place  he  is  no  better  than  an  idiot :  other  tal- 
ents take  place,  and  rule  the  hour.  The  rotation  which  whirls 
,3very  leaf  and  pebble  to  the  meridian,  reaches  to  every  gift  of 
man,  and  we  all  take  turns  at  the  top. 

For  nature,  who  abhors  mannerism,  has  set  her  heart  on 
breaking  up  all  styles  and  tricks,  and  it  is  so  much  easier  to 
do  what  one  has  done  before,  than  to  do  a  new  thing,  that 
there  is  a  perpetual  tendency  to  a  set  mode.  In  every  con- 
versation, even  the  highest,  there  is  a  certain  trick,  which  may 
be  soon  learned  by  an  acute  person,  and  then  that  particular 
Style  continued  indefinitely.  KaHi  man,  too,  is  a  tyrruil  in 
tendency,  because  he  would  impose  his  idea  on  ollu  ;  i 

their  trick  is  their  natural  defence.  Jesus  would  absorb  the 


t30  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS, 

race ;  but  Tom  Paine  or  the  coarsest  blasphemer  helpi  hu. 
manity  by  resisting  this  exuberance  of  power.  Hence  the  im- 
mense benefit  of  party  in  politics,  as  it  reveals  faults  of  char- 
acter  in  a  chief,  which  the  intellectual  force  of  the  persons, 
with  ordinary  opportunity,  and  not  hurled  into  aphelion  by 
hatred,  could  not  have  seen.  Since  we  are  all  so  stupid,  what 
benefit  that  there  should  be  two  stupidities  1  It  is  like  that 
brute  advantage  so  essential  to  astronomy,  of  having  the  di- 
ameter of  the  earth's  orbit  for  a  base  of  its  triangles.  Democ- 
racy is  morose,  and  runs  to  anarchy,  but  in  the  state,  and  in 
the  schools,  it  is  indispensable  to  resist  the  consolidation  of  all 
men  into  a  few  men.  If  John  was  perfect,  why  are  you  and  I 
alive  ?  As  long  as  any  man  exists,  there  is  some  need  of  him : 
let  him  fight  for  his  own.  A  new  poet  has  appeared  ;  a  new 
character  approached  us ;  why  should  we  refuse  to  eat  bread, 
until  we  have  found  his  regiment  and  section  in  our  old  army- 
files  ?  Why  not  a  new  man  ?  Here  is  a  new  enterprise  of 
Brook  Farm,  of  Skeneateles,  of  Northampton  :  why  so  impa- 
tient to  baptize  them  Essenes,  or  Port-Royalists,  or  Shakers, 
or  by  any  known  and  effete  name  ?  Let  it  be  a  new  way  of 
living.  Why  have  only  two  or  three  ways  of  life,  and  not 
thousands  ?  Everj^  man  is  wanted,  and  no  man  is  wanted 
much.  We  came  this  time  for  condiments,  not  for  corn.  We 
want  the  great  genius  only  for  joy  ;  for  o»e  star  more  in  our 
constellation,  for  one  tree  more  in  our  grove.  But  he  thinks 
we  wish  to  belong  to  him,  as  he  wishes  to  occupy  us.  He 
greatly  mistakes  us.  I  think  1  have  done  well,  if  I  have  ac- 
quired a  new  word  from  a  good  author  ;  and  my  business  with 
him  is  to  find  my  own,  though  it  were  only  to  melt  him  down 
into  an  epithet  or  an  image  for  daily  use. 

"Into  paiat  will  I  grind  thee,  my  bride  ! " 

To  embroil  the  confusion,  and  make  it  impossible  to  arrive 
at  any  general  statement,  when  we  have  insisted  on  the  imper- 
fection of  individuals,  our  affections  and  our  experience  urge 
that  every  individual  is  entitled  to  honor,  and  a  very  generous 
treatment  is  sure  to  be  repaid.  A  recluse  sees  only  two  or 
three  persons,  and  allows  them  all  their  room ;  they  spread 
themselves  at  large.  The  man  of  state  looks  at  many,  and 
compares  the  few  habitually  with  others,  and  these  look  less. 
Yet  are  they  not  entitled  to  this  generosity  of  reception  ?  and 
is  not  munificence  the  means  of  insight  ?  For  though  game- 
sters say,  that  the  cards  beat  all  the  players,  though  they  were 
never  so  skilful,  yet  in  the  contest  we  are  now  considering,  the 
layers  are  also  the  game,  and  share  the  power  of  the  card* 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST.  129 

If  you  criticise  a  fine  genius,  the  odds  are  that  you  are  out  of 
your  reckoning,  and,  instead  of  the  poet,  are  censuring  your 
own  caricature  of  him.  For  there  is  somewhat  spheral  ami  in- 
finite  in  every  man,  especially  in  every  genius,  which,  if  you 
can  come  very  near  him,  sports  with  all  your  limitations. 
For,  rightly,  every  man  is  a  channel  through  which  heaven 
floweth,  and,  whilst  I  fancied  I  was  criticising  him,  I  was  cen- 
suring or  rather  terminating  iny  own  soul.  After  taxing' 

Goethe  as  a  courtier,  artificial,  unbelieving,  worldly, I  took 

up  this  book  of  Helena,  and  found  him  an  Indian  of  the  wilder 
ness,  a  piece  of  pure  nature  like  an  apple  or  an  oak,  large  as 
morning  or  night,  and  virtuous  as  a  briar-rose. 

But  care  is  taken  that  the  whole  time  shall  be  played.  If 
we  were  not  kept  among  surfaces,  every  thing  would  be  large 
and  universal :  now  the  excluded  attributes  burst  in  on  us 
with  the  more  brightness,  that  they  have  been  excluded. 
•*  Your  turn  now,  my  turn  next,"  is  the  rule  of  the  game. 
The  universality  being  hindered  in  its  primary  form,  comes  in 
the  secondary  form  of  all  sides:  the  points  come  in  succession 
to  the  meridian,  and  by  the  speed  of  rotation,  a  new  whole  ia 
formed.  Nature  keeps  herself  whole,  and  her  representation 
complete  in  the  experience  of  each  mind.  She  suffers  no  seal 
%o  be  vacant  in  her  college.  It  is  the  secret  of  the  '/vorld  that 
til  things  subsist,  and  do  not  die  but  only  retire  a  little  from 
eight,  and  afterwards  return  aga»n.  Whatever  does  not  con. 
cern  us,  is  concealed  from  us.  As  soon  as  a  person  is  no 
longer  related  to  our  present  well-being,  he  is  concealed,  ot 
dies,  as  we  say.  Really,  all  things  and  persons  «re  related  to 
us,  but  according  to  our  nature,  they  act  on  us  not  at  once, 
but  in  succession.  0-nd  we  are  made  aware  of  'Jheir  presence 
one  at  a  time.  All  persons,  all  things  which  w  j  have  known, 
are  here  present,  and  many  more  than  we  see  ;  the  world  it 
full.  As  the  ancient  said,  the  world  is  a  plenum  or  solid  ;  and 
if  we  saw  all  things  that  really  surround  us,  we  should  be  inv 
prisoned  and  unable  to  move.  For,  though  nothing  is  irapas* 
able  to  the  soul,  but  all  things  are  previous  to  it,  and  like 
highways,  yet  this  is  only  whilst  the  soul  does  not  see  them. 
As  soon  as  the  soul  sees  any  object,  it  stops  before  that  object. 
Therefore,  the  divine  Providence,  which  keeps  the  universe 
open  in  every  direction  to  the  soul,  conceals  all  the  furniture 
and  all  the  persons  that  do  not  concern  a  particular  soul,  from 
the  senses  of  that  individual.  Through  solidest  eternal  things^ 
the  man  finds  his  road,  as  if  they  did  not  subsist,  and  does  not 
once  suspect  their  being.  As  soon  as  he  needs  a  new  object 
suddenly  he  beholds  it,  and  no  longer  attempts  to  paw  thjrougjp 


19  EMEBSOirS  ESSAtt. 

ft  bat  takes  another  way.    When  he  has  exhausted  for  tbt 

time  the  nourishment  'o  be  drawn  from  any  one  person  or 
thing,  that  object  is  withdrawn  from  his  observation,  and 
though  still  in  his  immediate  neighborhood,  he  does  not  sus- 
pect its  presence. 

Nothing  is  dead :  men  feign  themselves  dead,  and  endure 
mock  funerals  and  mournful  obituaries,  and  there  they  stand 
looking  out  of  the  window,  sound  and  well,  in  some  new  and 
strange  disguise.  Jesus  is  not  dead  :  he  is  very  well  alive . 
nor  John,  nor  Paul,  nor  Mahomet,  nor  Aristotle  ;  at  times  we 
believe  we  have  seen  them  all,  and  could  easily  tell  the  names 
under  which  they  go. 

If  we  cannot  make  voluntary  and  conscious  steps  in  the 
admirable  science  of  universals,  let  us  see  the  parts  wisely, 
and  infer  the  genius  of  nature  from  the  best  particulars  with 
a  becoming  charity.  What  is  best  in  each  kind  is  an  index 
of  what  should  be  the  average  of  that  thing.  Love  shows 
me  the  opulence  of  nature,  by  disclosing  to  me  in  my  friend  a 
hidden  wealth,  and  I  infer  an  equal  depth  of  good  in  every 
other  direction.  It  is  commonly  said  by  farmers,  that  a  good 
pear  or  apple  costs  no  more  time  or  pains  to  rear,  than  a  poor 
one ;  so  I  would  have  no  work  of  art,  no  speech,  or  action,  or 
thought,  or  friend,  but  the  best. 

The  end  and  the  means,  the  gamester  and  the  game, — life 
is  made  up  of  the  intermixture  and  reaction  of  these  two 
amicable  powers,  whose  marriage  appears  beforehand  mon« 
strous,  as  each  denies  and  tends  to  abolish  the  other.  We 
must  reconcile  the  contradictions  as  we  can,  but  their  discord 
and  their  concord  introduce  wild  absurdities  into  our  thinking 
and  speech.  No  sentence  will  hold  the  whole  truth,  and  the 
only  way  in  which  we  can  be  just,  is  by  giving  ourselves  the 
lie;  Speech  is  better  than  silence;  silence  is  better  than 
speech ; — All  things  are  in  contact ;  every  atom  has  a  sphere 
of  repulsion  ; — Things  are,  and  are  not,  at  the  same  time  ;-^ 
and  the  like.  All  the  universe  over,  there  is  but  one  thing, 
this  old  Two-Face,  creator-creature,  mind-matter,  right-wrong, 
of  which  any  proposition  may  be  affirmed  or  denied.  Very 
fitly,  therefore,  I  assert,  that  every  man  is  a  partialist,  that 
nature  secures  him  as  an  instrument  by  self-conceit,  prevent- 
ing the  tendencies  to  religion  and  science ;  and  now  further 
assert,  that,  each  man's  genius  being  nearly  and  affectionately 
explored,  he  is  justified  in  his  individuality,  as  his  nature  is 
found  to  be  immense ;  and  now  I  add,  that  every  man  is  a 
universalist  also,  and,  as  our  earth,  whilst  it  spins  on  its  own 
axis,  spins  all  the  time  around  the  sun  through  the  celestial 


90MINALIST  AND  BEAU8T,  131 

spaces,  so  the  least  of  its  rational  children,  the  most  dedicated 
to  his  private  affair,  works  out,  though  as  it  were  under  a 
disguise,  the  universal  problem.  We  fancy  men  are  individ. 
uals ;  so  are  pumpkins  ;  but  every  pumpkin  in  the  field,  goes 
through  every  point  of  pumpkin  history.  The  rabid  demo- 
crat, as  soon  as  he  is  senator  and  rich  man,  has  ripened  be- 
yond  possibility  of  sincere  radicalism,  and  unless  he  can  resist 
the  sun,  he  must  be  conservative  the  remainder  of  his  days. 
Lord  Eldon  said  in  his  old  age,  "  that,  if  he  were  to  begin  life 
again,  he  would  be  damned  but  he  would  begin  as  agitator." 

We  hide  this  universality,  if  we  can,  but  it  appears  at  all 
points.  We  are  as  ungrateful  as  children.  There  is  nothing 
we  cherish  and  strive  to  draw  to  us,  but  in  some  hour  we  turn 
and  rend  it.  We  keep  a  running  fire  of  sarcasm  at  ignorance 
and  the  life  of  the  senses ;  then  goes  by,  perchance,  a  fair 
girl,  a  piece  of  life,  gay  and  happy,  and  making  the  common- 
est offices  beautiful,  by  the  energy  and  heart  with  which  she 
does  them,  and  seeing  this,  we  admire  and  love  her  and  them, 
and  say,  "  Lo  1  a  genuine  creature  of  the  fair  earth,  not  dissi- 
pated, or  too  early  ripened  by  books,  philosophy,  religion,  so. 
ciety,  or  care  1 "  insinuating  a  treachery  and  contempt  for  all 
we  had  so  long  loved  and  wrought  in  ourselves  and  others. 

If  we  could  have  any  security  against  moods  I  If  the  pro- 
foundest  prophet  could  be  holden  to  his  words,  and  the  hearer 
who  is  ready  to  sell  all  and  join  the  crusade,  could  have  any 
certificate  that  to-morrow  his  prophet  shall  not  unsay  his  tes- 
timony !  But  the  Truth  sits  veiled  there  on  the  Bench,  and 
never  interposes  an  adamantine  syllable ;  and  the  most  sincere 
and  revolutionary  doctrine,  put  as  if  the  ark  of  God  were 
carried  forward  some  furlongs,  and  planted  there  for  the  sue* 
cor  of  the  world,  shall  in  a  few  weeks  be  coldly  set  aside  by 
the  same  speaker,  as  morbid ;  "  I  thought  I  was  right,  but  I 
was  not," — and  the  same  immeasurable  credulity  demanded 
for  new  audacities.  If  we  were  not  of  all  opinions !  if  we  did 
not  in  any  moment  shift  the  platform  on  which  we  stand,  and 
look  and  speak  from  another !  if  there  could  be  any  regulation, 
any  '  one-hour-rule,'  that  a  man  should  never  leave  his  point 
of  View,  without  sound  of  trumpet.  I  am  always  insincere, 
as  always  knowing  there  are  other  moods. 

How  sincere  and  confidential  we  can  be,  saying  all  that  lies 
in  the  mind,  and  yet  go  away  feeling  that  all  is  yet  unsaid, 
from  the  incapacity  of  the  parties  to  know  each  other, 
although  they  use  the  same  words  !  My  companion  assumes 
to  know  my  mood  and  habit  of  thought,  and  we  go  on  from 
explanation  to  explanation,  until  all  is  said  which  words  can^ 


184  EMERSON'S  ES8AY&. 

and  we  leave  matters  just  as  they  were  at  first,  because  of 
that  vicious  assumption.  Is  it  that  every  man  believes  every 
other  to  be  an  incurable  partialist,  and  himself  an  universal- 
jst  ?  I  talked  yesterday  with  a  pair  of  philosophers  :  I  e» 
deavored  to  show  my  good  men  that  I  love  everything  by 
turns,  and  nothing  long  ;  that  I  loved  the  centre,  but  doated 
on  the  superficies  ;  that  I  loved  man,  if  men  seemed  to  me 
mice  and  rats ;  that  I  revered  saints,  but  woke  up  glad  that 
the  old  pagan  world  stood  its  ground,  and  died  hard  ;  that  I 
was  glad  of  men  of  every  gift  and  nobility,  but  would  not 
live  in  their  arms.  Could  they  but  once  understand,  that  I 
loved  to  know  that  they  existed,  and  heartily  wished  them 
Godspeed,  yet,  out  of  my  poverty  of  life  and  thought,  had  no 
word  or  welcome  for  them  when  they  came  to  see  me,  and 
could  well  consent  to  their  living  in  Oregon,  for  any  claim  I 
felt  on  them,  it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction. 


KEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 

(13$ 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMER& 


A  LECTURE  BEAD  BEFORE  THE   SOCIETY  IN  AMORT  HALL,  ON  SUM. 
DAY,  3  MARCH,   1844. 

WHOEVER  has  had  opportunity  of  acquaintance  with  society 
in  New  England,  during  the  last  twenty -five  years,  with  those 
middle  and  with  those  leading  sections  that  may  constitute 
any  just  representation  of  the  character  and  aim  of  the  com- 
munity, will  have  been  struck  with  the  great  activity  of 
thought  and  experimenting.  His  attention  must  be  com- 
manded by  the  signs  that  the  Church,  or  religious  party,  is 
falling  from  the  church  nominal,  and  is  appearing  in  temper- 
ance and  non-resistance  societies,  in  movements  of  abolitionists 
and  of  socialists,  and  in  very  significant  assemblies,  called 
Sabbath  and  Bible  Conventions, — composed  of  ultraists,  of 
seekers,  of  all  the  soul  of  the  soldiery  of  dissent,  and 
meeting  to  call  in  question  the  authority  of  the  Sabbath, 
of  the  priesthood,  and  of  the  church.  In  these  movements, 
nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  discontent  they  begot 
in  the  movers.  The  spirit  of  protest  and  of  detachment, 
drove  the  members  of  these  Conventions  to  bear  testimony 
against  the  church,  and  immediately  afterward,  to  declare  their 
discontent  with  these  Conventions,  their  independence  of 
their  colleagues,  and  their  impatience  of  the  methods  whereby 
they  were  working.  They  defied  each  other,  like  a  congress 
of  kings,  each  of  whom  had  a  realm  to  rule,  and  a  way  of  his 
own  that  made  concert  unprofitable.  What  a  fertility  of  pro- 
jects for  the  salvation  of  the  world!  One  apostle  thought  all 
men  should  go  to  farming ;  and  another,  that  no  man  should 
buy  or  sell :  that  the  use  of  money  was  the  cardinal  evil ;  an- 
other, that  the  mischief  was  in  our  diet,  that  we  eat  and  drink 
damnation.  These  made  unleavened  bread,  and  were  foes  to 
the  death  to  fermentation.  It  was  in  vain  urged  by  the 
housewife,  that  God  made  yeast,  as  well  as  dough,  and  loves 
fermentation  just  as  dearly  as  he  loves  vegetation ;  that  fer- 
mentation develops  the  saccharine  element  in  the  grain,  and 
makes  it  more  palatable  and  more  digestible.  No ;  they  wish 
the  pure  wheat,  and  will  die  but  it  shall  not  lerment.  stop, 
dear  nature,  these  incessant  advancei  ef  thine ;  let  us  scotch 

(135) 


136  EMERSON  o1  ESSAYS. 

these  ever-rolling  wheels  I  Others  attacked  the  system  oi 
agriculture,  the  use  of  animal  manures  in  farming :  and  the 
tyranny  of  man  over  brute  nature  ;  these  abuses  polluted  his 
food.  The  ox  must  be  taken  from  the  plough,  and  the  horse 
from  the  cart,  the  hundred  acres  of  the  farm  must  be  spaded, 
and  the  man  must  walk  wherever  boats  and  locomotives  will 
not  carry  him.  Even  the  insect  world  was  to  be  defended, — 
that  haif  been  too  long  neglected,  and  a  society  for  the  pro- 
tection of  ground-worms,  slugs,  and  mosquitos  was  to  be  in« 
corporated  without  delay.  With  these  appeared  the  adepts 
of  homoeopathy,  of  hydropathy,  of  mesmerism,  of  phrenology, 
and  their  wonderful  theories  of  the  Christian  miracles  1 
Others  assailed  particular  vocations,  as  that  of  the  lawyer, 
that  of  the  merchant,  of  the  manufacturer,  of  the  clergyman, 
of  the  scholar.  Others  attacked  the  institution  of  marriage, 
as  the  fountain  of  social  evils.  Others  devoted  themselves  to 
the  worrying  of  churches  and  meetings  for  public  worship ; 
and  the  fertile  forms  of  antiuomianism  among  the  elder  puri- 
tans, seemed  to  have  their  match  hi  the  plenty  of  the  new 
harvest  of  reform. 

With  this  din  of  opinion  and  debate,  there  was  a  keener 
scrutiny  of  institutions  and  domestic  life  than  any  we  had 
known,  there  was  sincere  protesting  against  existing  evils,  and 
there  were  changes  of  emploj'ment  dictated  by  conscience. 
No  doubt,  there  was  plentiful  vaporing,  and  cases  of  back- 
sliding  might  occur.  But  in  each  of  these  movements 
emerged  a  good  result,  a  tendency  to  the  adoption  of  simpler 
methods,  and  an  assertion  of  the  sufficiency  of  the  private 
man.  Thus  it  was  directly  in  the  spirit  and  genius  of  the 
age,  what  happened  in  one  instance,  when  a  church  censured 
and  threatened  to  excommunicate  one  of  its  members,  on  ac- 
count of  the  somewhat  hostile  part  to  the  church,  which  his 
conscience  led  him  to  take  in  the  anti-slavery  business ;  the 
threatened  individual  immediately  excommunicated  the  church 
in  a  public  and  formal  process.  This  has  been  several  times 
repeated :  it  was  excellent  when  it  was  done  the  first  time,  but, 
of  course,  loses  all  value  when  it  is  copied.  Every  project  in 
the  history  of  reform,  no  matter  how  violent  and  surprising, 
is  good,  when  it  is  the  dictate  of  a  man's  genius  and  constitu- 
tion, but  very  dull  and-suspicious  when  adopted  from  another. 
It  is  right  and  beautiful  in  any  man  to  say,  '  I  will  take  this 
coat,  or  this  book,  or  this  measure  of  corn  of  yours,'- — in 
whom  we  see  the  act  to  be  original,  and  to  tiow  from  the 
whole  spirit  and  faith  of  him ;  for  then  that  taking  will  have 
»  giving  as  free  and  divine :  but  we  are  very  easily  disposed 


SfEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS.  11H 

to  resist  the  same  generosity  of  speech,  when  we  miss  oriui- 
nality  and  truth  to  character  in  it. 

There  was  in  all  the  practical  activities  of  New  England 
for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  a  gradual  withdrawal  of 
tender  consciences  from  the  social  organizations.  There  is 
observable  throughout,  the  contest  between  mechanical  and 
»piritual  methods,  but  with  a  steady  tendency  of  the  thought- 
ful and  virtuous  to  a  deeper  belief  and  reliance  on  spiritual 
facts. 

In  politics,  for  example,  it  is  easy  to  see  the  progress  of  dis- 
sent. The  country  is  full  of  rebellion ;  the  country  is  full  of 
kings.  Hands  off!  let  there  be  no  control  and  no  interference 
in  the  administration  of  the  affairs  of  this  kingdom  of  me. 
Hence  the  growth  of  the  doctrine  and  of  the  party  of  Free 
Trade,  and  the  willingness  to  try  that  experiment,  in  the  face 
of  what  appear  incontestable  facts.  I  confess,  the  motto  of  the 
Globe  newspaper  is  so  attractive  to  me,  that  I  can  seldom  find 
fliuch  appetite  to  read  what  is  below  it  in  its  columns,  "  The 
•world  is  governed  too  much."  So  the  country  is  frequently 
affording  solitary  examples  of  resistance  to  the  government, 
solitary  nullifiers,  who  throw  themselves  on  their  reserved 
rights;  nay,  who  have  reserved  all  their  rights;  who  reply  to 
the  assessor,  and  to  the  clerk  of  court,  that  they  do  not  know 
the  State  ;  and  embarrass  the  courts  of  law,  by  non-juring, 
and  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  militia,  by  non-resistance. 

The  same  disposition  to  scrutiny  and  dissent  appeared  in 
civil,  festive,  neighborly,  and  domestic  society.  A  restless, 
prying,  conscientious  criticism  broke  out  in  unexpected  quar- 
ters. Who  gave  me  the  money  with  which  I  bought  my  coat  ? 
Why  should  professional  labor  and  that  of  the  counting-house 
be  paid  go  disproportionately  to  the  labor  of  the  porter,  and 
wood-sawer  ?  This  whole  business  of  Trade  gives  me  to  pause 
and  think,  as  it  constitutes  false  relations  between  men ;  inas- 
much as  I  am  prone  to  count  myself  relieved  of  any  responsi- 
bility to  behave  well  and  nobly  to  that  person  whom  I  pay 
with  money,  whereas  if  I  had  not  that  commodity,  I 
should  be  put  on  my  good  behavior  in  all  companies,  and  man 
would  be  a  benefactor  to  man,  as  being  himself  his  only  certif- 
icate that  he  had  a  right  to  those  aids  and  services  which 
each  asked  of  the  other.  Am  I  not  too  protected  a  person  1 
is  there  not  a  wide  disparity  between  the  lot  of  me  and  the  lot 
of  thee,  my  poor  brother,'  my  poor  sister  ?  Am  I  not  de- 
frauded of  my  best  culture  in  the  loss  of  those  gymnastics 
which  manual  labor  and  emergencies  of  poverty  consti- 
tute ?  I  find  nothing  healthful  or  exalting  in  the  smooth  coo- 


138  EMERSON'S  ESSAY& 

ventions  of  society ;  I  do  not  like  the  close  air  o*  saloons.  1 
begin  to  suspect  myself  to  be  a  prisoner,  though  treated  with 
all  this  courtesy  and  luxury.  I  pay  a  destructive  tax  in  my 
conformity. 

The  same  insatiable  criticism  may  be  traced  in  the  efforts 
for  the  reform  of  Education.  The  popular  education  has  been 
taxed  with  a  want  of  truth  and  nature.  It  was  complained 
that  an  education  to  things  was  not  given.  We  are  students 
of  words  :  we  are  shut  up  in  schools,  and  colleges,  and  recita- 
tion-rooms, for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  and  come  out  at  last  with  a 
bag  of  wind,  a  memory  of  words,  and  do  not  know  a  thing. 
We  cannot  use  our  hands,  or  our  legs,  or  our  eyes,  or  our  arms. 
We  do  not  know  an  edible  root  in  the  woods,  we  cannot  tell 
our  course  by  the  stars,  nor  the  hour  of  the  day  by  the  sun.  It 
is  well  if  we  can  swim  and  skate.  We  are  afraid  of  a  horse,  of  a 
cow,  of  a  dog,  of  a  snake,  of  a  spider.  The  Roman  rule  was,  to 
teach  a  boy  nothing  that  he  could  not  learn  standing.  The 
old  English  rule  was, '  All  summer  in  the  field,  and  all  winter 
in  the  study.'  And  it  seems  as  if  a  man  should  learn  to  plant, 
or  to  fish,  or  to  hunt,  that  he  might  secure  his  subsistence  at 
all  events,  and  not  be  painful  to  his  friends  and  fellow  men. 
The  lessons  of  science  should  be  experimental  also.  The  sight 
of  the  planet  through  a  telescope,  is  worth  all  the  course  on 
astronomy :  the  shock  of  the  electric  spark  in  the  elbow,  out- 
values all  the  theories ;  the  taste  of  the  nitrous  oxide,  the  fir- 
ing of  an  artificial  volcano,  are  better  than  volumes  of 
chemistry. 

One  of  the  traits  of  the  new  spirit,  is  the  inquisition  it  fixed 
on  our  scholastic  devotion  to  the  dead  languages.  The  ancient 
languages,  with  great  beauty  of  structure,  contain  wonderful 
remains  of  genius,  which  draw,  and  always  will  draw,  certain 
likeminded  men, — Greek  men,  and  Roman  men,  in  all 
countries,  to  their  study ;  but  by  a  wonderful  drowsiness  of 
usage,  they  had  exacted  the  study  of  all  men.  Once  (say  two 
centuries  ago),  Latin  and  Greek  had  a  strict  relation  to  all  the 
science  and  culture  there  was  in  Europe,  and  the  Mathematics 
had  a  momentary  importance  at  some  era  of  activity  in 
physical  science.  These  things  became  stereotyped  as  educa- 
tion, as  the  manner  of  men  is.  But  the  Good  Spirit  never 
cared  for  the  colleges,  and  though  all  men  and  boys  were  now 
drilled -in  Latin,  Greek,  and  Mathematics,  it  had  quite  left 
these  shells  high  and  dry  on  the  beach,  and  was  now  creating 
and  feeding  other  matters  at  other  ends  of  the  world.  But  in 
a  hundred  high  schools  and  colleges,  this  warfare  against  com- 
mon  sense  still  goes  on.  Four,  or  six,  or  ten  years,  the  pupil 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS.  t» 

is  parsing  Greek  and  Latin,  and  as  soon  as  he  leaves  the  TJnL 
veraity,as  it  is  ludicrously  called,  he  shuts  those  books  for  the 
la,jt  time.  Some  thousands  of  young  men  are  graduated  at 
o-ir  colleges  in  this  country  every  year,  and  the  persons  who, 
at  forty  years,  still  read  Greek,  can  all  be  counted  on  your 
hand.  I  never  met  with  ten.  Four  or  five  persons  I  lave 
seen  \v!io  read  Plato. 

But  is  not  this  absurd,  that  the  whole  liberal  talent  of  this 
country  should  be  directed  in  its  best  years  on  studies  which 
lead  to  nothing?  What  was  the  consequence?  Some  intel- 
ligent person  said  or  thought:  'Is  that  Greek  and  Latin 
some  spell  to  conjure  with,  and  not  words  of  reason?  If  the 
physician,  the  lawyer,  the  divine,  never  use  it  to  come  at  their 
ends,  I  need  never  learn  it  to  come  at  mine.  Conjuring  is 
gone  out  of  fashion,  and  I  will  omit  this  conjugating,  and  go 
straight  to  affairs.'  So  they  jumped  the  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
read  law,  medicine,  or  sermons,  without  it.  To  the  astonish- 
ment of  a*  11,  the  self-made  men  took  even  ground  at  once  with 
the  oldest  of  the  regular  graduates,  and  in  a  few  months  the 
most  conservative  circles  of  Boston  and  New  York  had  quite 
forgotten  who  of  their  gownsmen  was  college-bred,  and  who 
was  not. 

One  tendency  appears  alike  in  the  philosophical  speculation, 
and  in  the  rudest  dernocratical  movements,  through  all  the 
petulance  and  all  the  puerility,  the  wish,  namely,  to  cast  aside 
the  superfluous,  and  arrive  at  short  methods,  urged,  as  I  sup- 
pose, by  an  intuition  that  the  human  spirit  is  equal  to  all 
emergencies,  alone,  and  that  man  is  more  often  injured  than 
helped  by  the  means  he  uses. 

I  conceive  this  gradual  casting  off  of  material  aids,  and 
the  indication  of  growing  trust  in  the  private,  self-supplied 
powers  of  the  individual,  to  be  the  affirmative  principle  of  the 
recent  philosophy :  and  that  it  is  feeling  its  own  profound 
truth,  and  is  reaching  forward  at  this  very  hour  to  the 
happiest  conclusions.  I  readily  concede  that  in  this,  as  in 
every  period  of  intellectual  activity,  there  has  been  a  noise  of 
denial  and  protest ;  much  was  to  be  resisted,  much  was  to  be 
got  rid  of  by  those  who  were  reared  in  the  old,  before  UK  v 
could  begin  to  affirm  and  to  construct.  Many  a  reforms, 
perishes  in  his  removal  of  rubbish, — and  that  makes  the  ollVn- 
siveness  of  the  class.  They  are  partial ;  they  are  not  equal  to 
the  work  they  pretend.  They  lose  their  way,  in  the  :i^:mlt. 
on  the  kingdom  of  darkness,  they  expend  all  their  energy  on 
some  accidental  evil,  and  lo.-e  their  sanity  and  power  of  benefit, 
It  is  of  little  moment  that  one  or  two,  or  twenty  errors  of  om 


40  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS. 

social  system  be  corrected,  but  of  much  that  the  man  be  in  hi§ 
senses. 

The  criticism  and  attack  on  institutions  which  we  have  wit- 
nessed, has  made  one  thing  plain,  that  society  gains  nothing 
whilst  a  man,  not  himself  renovated,  attempts  to  renovate 
things  around  him  :  he  has  become  tediously  good  in  some 
particular,  but  negligent  or  narrow  in  the  rest ;  and  hypocrjsy 
*nd  vanity  are  often  the  disgusting  result. 

It  is  handsomer  to  remain  in  the  establishment  better  than 
.he  establishment,  and  conduct  that  in  the  best  manner,  than 
•io  make  a  sally  against  evil  by  some  single  improvement,  with- 
out supporting  it  by  a  total  regeneration.  Do  not  be  so  vain 
of  your  one  objection.  Do  you.  think  there  is  only  one  ?  Alas " 
my  good  friend,  there  is  no  part  of  society  or  of  life  better  than 
any  other  part.  All  our  things  are  right  and  wrong  together. 
The  wave  of  evil  washes  all  our  institutions  alike.  Do  you 
complain  of  our  Marriage?  Our  marriage  is  no  worse  than 
our  education,  our  diet,  our  trade,  our  social  customs.  Do 
you  complain  of  the  laws  of  Property  ?  It  is  a  pedantry  to 
give  such  importance  to  them.  Can  we  not  play  the  game 
of  life  with  these  counters,  as  well  as  with  those ;  in  the  in- 
stitution of  property,  as  well  as  out  of  it.  Let  into  it  the  new 
and  renewing  principle  of  love,  and  property  will  be  uni- 
versality. No  one  gives  the  impression  of  superiority  to  the 
institution,  which  he  must  give  who  will  reform  it.  It  makes 
no  difference  what  you  say  :  you  must  make  me  feel  that  you 
are  aloof  from  it ;  by  your  natural  and  supernatural  advan- 
tages, do  easily  see  to  the  end  of  it, — do  see  how  man  can  do 
without  it.  Now  all  men  are  on  one  side.  No  man  deserves 
to  be  heard  against  property.  Only  Love,  only  an  Idea,  is 
against  property,  as  we  hold  it. 

I  cannot  afford  to  be  irritable  and  captious,  nor  to  waste  all 
my  time  in  attacks.  If  I  should  go  out  of  church  whenever  I 
hear  a  false  sentiment,  I  could  never  stay  there  five  minutes. 
But  why  come  out?  the  street  is  as  false  as  the  church,  and 
when  I  get  to  my  house,  or  to  my  manners,  or  to  my  speech,  I 
have  not  got  away  from  the  lie.  When  we  see  an  eager  assail- 
ant of  one  of  these  wrongs,  a  special  reformer,  we  feel  like  ask- 
ing him,  What  right  have  you,  sir,  to  your  one  virtue  ?  Is 
virtue  piecemeal  ?  This  is  a  jewel  amidst  the  rags  of  a  beg- 
gar. 

In  another  way  the  right  will  be  vindicated.  In  the  midst 
of  abuses,  in  the  heart  of  cities,  in  the  aisles  of  false  churches, 
alike  in  one  place  and  in  another, — wherever,  namely,  a  just 
and  heroic  soul  finds  itself  there  it  will  do  what  is  next  ah 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS.  141 

land,  and  by  the  new  quality  of  character  it  shall  put  forth,  it 
shall  abrogate  that  old  condition,  law  or  school  in  which  it 
Stands,  before  the  law  of  its  own  mind. 

If  partiality  was  one  fault  of  the  movement  party,  the  other 
defect  was  their  reliance  on  Association.  Doubts  such  as  those 
I  have  intimated,  drove  many  good  persons  to  agitate  the 
questions  of  social  reform.  But  the  revolt  against  the  spirit 
jf  commerce,  the  spirit  of  aristocracy,  and  the  inveterate 
Abuses  of  cities,  did  not  appear  possible  to  individuals  ;  and  to 
do  battle  against  numbers,  they  armed  themselves  with  num- 
bers, and  against  concert,  they  relied  on  new  concert. 

Following,  or  advancing  beyond  the  ideas  of  St.  Simon,  of 
Fourier,  and  i  Owen,  three  communities  have  already  been 
formed  in  Massachusetts  on  kindred  plans,  and  many  more  in 
the  country  at  large.  They  aim  to  give  every  member  a  share 
In  the  manual  labor,  to  give  an  equal  reward  to  labor  and  to 
talent,  and  to  unite  a  liberal  culture  with  an  education  to  la- 
bor. The  scheme  offers,  by  the  economies  of  associated  labor 
and  expense,  to  make  every  member  rich,  on  the  same  amount 
of  property,  that,  in  separate  families,  would  leave  every  mem- 
ber poor.  These  new  associations 'are  composed  of  men  and 
women  of  superior  talents  and  sentiments  :  yet  it  may  easily 
be  questioned,  whether  such  a  community  will  draw,  except  hi 
its  beginnings,  the  able  and  the  good  ;  whether  those  who  have 
energy,  will  not  prefer  their  chance  oi  superiority  and  powej 
_  the  world,  to  the  humble  certainties  of  the  Association; 
whether  such  a  retreat  does  not  promise  to  become  an  asylum 
to  those  who  have  tried  and  failed,  rather  than  a  field  to  the 
strong  ;  and  whether  the  members  will  not  necessarily  be  frac- 
tions of  men,  because  eacii  finds  that  he  cannot  enter  it,  with- 
out some  compromise.  Friendship  and  association  are  very 
fine  things,  and  a  grand  phalanx  of  the  best  of  the  human 
race,  banded  for  some  catholic  object  t  yes,  excellent ;  but  re- 
member that  no  society  can  ever  be  so  large  as  one  man.  He 
in  his  friendship,  in  his  natural  and  momentary  associations, 
doubles  or  multiplies  himself;  but  in  the  hour  in  which  he 
mortgages  himseli  to  two  or  ten  or  twenty,  he  dwarfs  himself 
below  the  stature  of  one. 

But  the  men  of  less  faith  could  not  thus  believe,  and  to 
such,  concert  appears  the  sole  specific  of  strength.  I  hav« 
failed,  and  you  have  failed,  but  perhaps  together  we  shall  not 
fell.  Our  housekeeping  is  not  satisfactory  to  us,  but  perhaps 
a  phalanx,  a  community,  might  be.  Many  of  us  have  differed 
in  opinion,  and  we  could  find  no  man  who  could  make  the 
truth  plain,  but  possibly  a  college,  or  an  ecclesiastical  council 


ESSAYS. 

might.  I  have  not  been  able  either  to  persuade  my  brother  or 
to  prevail  on  myself,  to  disuse  the  traffic  or  the  potation  of 
brandy,  but  perhaps  a  pledge  of  total  abstinence  might  effec 
tually  restrain  us.  The  candidate  my  party  votes  for  is  not 
to  be  trusted  with  a  dollar,  but  he  will  be  honest  in  the  Sen- 
ate, for  we  can  bring  public  opinion  to  bear  on  him.  Thus 
concert  was  the  specific  in  all  cases.  But  concert  is  neither 
better  nor  worse,  neither  more  nor  less  potent  than  individual 
force.  All  the  men  in  the  world  cannot  make  a  statue  walk 
and  speak,  cannot  make  a  drop  of  blood,  or  a  blade  of  grass, 
any  more  than  one  man  can.  But  let  there  be  one  man,  let 
there  be  truth  in  two  men,  in  ten  men,  then  is  concert  for  the 
first  time  possible,  because  the  force  which  moves  the  world  is 
a  new  quality,  and  can  never  be  furnished  by  adding  whatever 
quantities  of  a  different  kind.  What  is  the  use  of  the  concert 
of  the  false  and  the  disunited  ?  There  can  be  no  concert  in 
two,  where  there  is  no  concert  in  one.  When  the  individual  is 
not  individual,  but  is  dual ;  when  his  thoughts  look  one  way, 
and  his  actions  another  ;  when  his  faith  is  traversed  by  his 
habits  ;  when  his  will,  enlightened  by  reason,  is  warped  by  his 
sense ;  when  with  one  hand  he  rows,  and  with  the  other  backs 
water,  what  concert  can  be  ? 

I  do  not  wonder  at  the  interest  these  projects  inspire.  The 
world  is  awaking  to  the  idea  of  union,  and  these  experiments 
show  what  it  is  thinking  of.  It  is  and  will  be  magic.  Men 
will  live  and  communicate,  and  plough,  and  reap,  and  govenij 
as  by  added  ethereal  power,  when  once  they  are  united  ;  as  in 
a  celebrated  experiment,  by  expiration  and  respiration  exactly 
together,  four  persons  lift  a  heavy  man  from  the  ground  by 
the  little  finger  only,  and  without  sense  of  weight.  But  this 
union  must  be  inward,  and  not  one  of  covenants,  and  is  to  be 
reached  by  a  reverse  of  the  methods  they  use.  The  union  ia 
only  perfect,  when  all  the  uniters  are  isolated.  It  is  the  union 
of  friends  who  live  in  different  streets  or  towns.  Each  man, 
if  he  attempts  to  join  himself  to  others,  is  on  all  sides  cramped 
and  diminished  of  his  proportion  ;  and  the  stricter  the  union, 
the  smaller  and  the  more  pitiful  he  is.  But  leave  him  alone, 
to  recognize  in  every  hour  and  place  the  secret  soul,  he  will 
go  up  and  down  doing  the  works  of  a  true  member,  and,  to 
the  astonishment  of  all,  the  work  will  be  done  with  concert, 
though  no  man  spoke.  Government  will  be  adamantine  with, 
out  any  governo*.  The  union  must  be  ideal  in  actual  individ- 
ualism. 

I  pass  to  tht  indication  in  some  particulars  of  that  faith  in 
which  th*  heart  is  preaching  to  us  in  these  djvys,  and 


NEW  ENGLAND  XEFORMEB&  148 

which  engages  the  more  regard,  from  the  consideration,  that 
the  speculations  of  one  generation  are  the  history  of  the  next 
following. 

In  alluding  just  now  to  our  system  of  education,  I  spoke  of 
the  deadness  of  its  details.  But  it  is  open  to  graver  criticism 
than  the  palsy  of  its  members  :  it  is  a  system  of  despair.  The 
disease  with  which  the  human  mind  now  labors,  is  want  of 
faith.  Men  do  not  believe  in  a  power  of  education.  We  do 
not  think  we  can  speak  to  divine  sentiments  in  man,  and  we 
do  not  try.  We  renounce  all  high  aims.  We  believe  that  the 
defects  of  so  many  perverse  and  so  many  frivolous  people,  who 
make  up  society,  are  organic,  and  society  is  a  hospital  of  in- 
curables. A  man  of  good  sense  but  of  little  i'aith,  whose  com- 
passion  seemed  to  lead  him  to  church  as  often  as  he  went 
there,  said  to  me  ;  "  that  he  liked  to  have  concerts,  and  fairs, 
and  churches,  and  other  public  amusements  go  on."  I  am 
afraid  the  remark  is  too  honest,  and  comes  from  the  same 
origin  as  the  maxim  of  the  tyrant,  "  If  you  would  rule  the 
world  quietly,  you  must  keep  it  amused."  I  notice  too,  that 
the  ground  on  which  eminent  public  servants  urge  the  claims 
of  popular  education  is  fear  :  '  This  country  is  filling  up  with 
thousands  and  millions  of  voters,  and  3-011  must  educate  them 
to  keep  them  from  our  throats.'  We  do  not  believe  that  any 
education,  any  system  of  philosophy,  any  influence  of  genius, 
will  ever  give  depth  of  insight  to  a  superficial  mind.  Having 
settled  ourselves  into  this  infidelity,  our  skill  is  expended  to 
procure  alleviations,  diversion,  opiates.  We  adorn  the  victim 
with  manual  skill,  his  tongue  with  languages,  his  body  with 
inoffensive  and  comely  manners.  So  have  we  cunningly  hid 
the  tragedy  of  limitation  and  inner  death  we  cannot  avert.  Is 
it  strange  that  society  should  be  devoured  by  a  secret  melan- 
choly, which  breaks  through  all  its  smiles,  and  all  its  gayety 
and  games  ? 

But  even  one  step  farther  our  infidelity  has  gone.  It  ap* 
pears  that  some  doubt  is  felt  by  good  and  wise  men,  whether 
really  the  happiness  and  probity  of  men  is  increased  by  the 
culture  fo  the  mind  in  those  disciplines  to  which  we  give  the 
name  fo  education.  Unhappily,  too,  the  doubt  comes  from 
scholars,  from  persons  who  have  tried  these  methods.  In  their 
experience,  the  scholar  was  not  raised  by  tlu>  sucwl  thoughts 
amongst  which  he  dwelt,  but  used  them  to  s»-lii>h  »'inN.  1  It- 
was  a  profane  person,  and  became  a  showman,  turning  his  gifts 
to  a  marketable  use,  and  not  to  his  own  snst»  IUUKV  and  growth. 
It  was  found  that  the  intellect  could  be  independently  devel- 
oped, that  is,  in  separation  from  the  man,  ts  any  single  organ 


144  EMERSON1 8  ESSAYS. 

can  be  invigorated,  and  the  result  was  monstrous.  A  canine 
appetite  for  knowledge  was  generated,  which  must  still  be  fed, 
but  was  never  satisfied,  and  this  knowledge  not  being  directed 
on  action,  never  took  the  character  of  substantial,  humane 
truth,  blessing  those  whom  it  entered.  It  gave  the  scholai 
certain  powers  of  expression,  the  power  of  speech,  the  powei 
of  poetry,  of  literary  art,  but  it  did  not  bring  him  to  peace,  o? 
to  beneficence. 

When  the  literary  class  betray  a  destitution  of  faith,  it  i.: 
not  strange  that  society  should  be  disheartened  and  sensup.l 
Ized  by  unbelief.  What  remedy  ?  Life  must  be  lived  on  a 
higher  plane.  We  must  go  up  to  a  higher  platform,  to  which 
we  are  always  invited  to  ascend ;  there,  the  whole  aspect  of 
things  changes.  I  resist  the  skepticism  of  our  education,  and 
of  our  educated  men.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  differences  of 
opinion  and  character  in  men  are  organic.  I  do  not  recognize, 
beside  the  class  of  the  good  and  the  wise,  a  permanent  class  of 
skeptics,  or  a  class  of  conservatives,  or  of  malignants,  or  of 
materialists.  I  do  not  believe  in  two  classes.  You  remember 
the  story  of  the  poor  woman  who  importuned  King  Philip  of 
Macedon  to  grant  her  justice,  which  Philip  refused :  the 
woman  exclaimed,  "  I  appeal  " :  the  king,  astonished,  asked  tc 
whom  she  appealed  :  the  woman  replied,  "  from  Philip  drunk 
to  Philip  sober."  The  text  will  suit  me  very  well.  I  believe 
Hot  in  two  classes  of  men,  but  in  man  in  two  moods,  in  Philip 
drunk  and  Philip  sober.  I  think,  according  to  the  good 
hearted  word  of  Plato,  "  Unwillingly  the  soul  is  deprived  ol 
truth."  Iron  conservative,  miser,  or  thief,  no  man  is,  but  by 
a  supposed  necessity,  which  he  tolerates  by  shortness  or  tor- 
pidity of  sight.  The  soul  lets  no  man  go  without  some  visita* 
tions  and  holy-days  of  a  diviner  presence.  It  would  be  ensj' 
to  show,  by  a  narrow  scanning  of  any  man's  biography,  that 
we  are  not  so  wedded  to  our  paltry  performances  of  every 
kind,  but  that  every  man  has  at  intervals  the  grace  to  scorn 
his  performances,  in  comparing  them  with  his  belief  of  what 
he  should  do,  that  he  puts  himself  on  the  side  of  his  enemies, 
listening  gladly  to  what  they  say  of  him,  and  accusing  him 
self  of  the  same  things. 

What  is  it  men  love  in  Genius,  but  its  infinite  hope,  whict 
degrades  all  it  has  done  ?  Genius  counts  all  its  miracles  pool 
and  short.  Its  own  idea  it  never  executed.  The  Illiad,  th* 
Hamlet,  the  Doric  column,  the  Roman  arch,  the  Gothic  minis 
ter.  the  German  anthem,  when  they  are  ended,  the  maste? 
easts  behind  him.  How  sinks  the  song  in  the  waves  of  melody 
Which  the  universe  pours  over  hia  soul  1  Before  that  graciou* 


&EFOSKEB8. 

Infinite,  oat  v»'  which  he  drew  these  few  strokes,  how 
they  look,  though  the  praises  of  the  world  attend  them.  From 
the  triumphs  of  his  art,  he  turns  with  desire  to  this  greater 
defeat.  Let  those  admire  wiio  will.  With  silent  joy  he  sees 
himself  to  be  capable  of  a  beauty  that  eclipses  all  which  hie 
liands  have  done,  all  which  human  bands  have  ever  done. 

Well,  we  are  all  the  children  o*  genius,  the  children  of  vir- 
Sue,— >and  feel  their  inspirations  ifi  ^iir  happier  hours.  Is  no' 
«very  man  sometimes  a  radical  in  politics  ?  Men  are  conserva- 
tives when  they  are  least  vigorcas,  or  when  they  are  most 
iuxuriotis.  They  are  conservatives  after  dinner,  or  before 
taking  their  rest ;  when  they  are  sick,  or  aged :  in  the  morn- 
\ng,  or  when  their  intellect  or  their  conscience  have  been 
aroused,  when  they  hear  music,  or  when  they  read  poetry  > 
they  are  radicals.  In  the  circle  of  the  rankest  tories  that 
could  be  collected  in  England,  Old  or  New,  let  a  powerful  and 
stimulating  intellect,  a  man  of  great  heart  and  mind,  act  on 
them,  and  very  quickly  these  frozen  conservators  will  yield  to 
the  friendly  influence,  these  hopeless  will  begin  to  hope,  these 
haters  will  begin  to  love,  these  immovable  statues  will  begin 
to  spin  and  revolve.  I  cannot  help  recalling  the  fine  anecdote 
which  Warton  relates  of  Bishop  Berkeley,  when  he  was  pre- 
paring to  leave  England,  with  his  plan  of  planting  the  gospel 
among  the  American  savages.  "  Lord  Bathurst  told  me,  that 
the  members  of  the  Scriblerus  club,  being  met  at  his  house  at 
dinner,  they  agreed  to  rally  Berkeley,  who  was  also  his  guest, 
on  his  scheme  at  Bermudas.  Berkeley,  having  listened  to  the 
many  lively  things  they  had  to  say,  begged  to  be  heard  in  his 
turn,  and  displayed  his  plan  with  such  an  astonishing  and  an- 
imating force  of  eloquence  and  enthusiasm,  that  they  were 
struck  dumb,  and,  after  some  pause,  rose  up  all  together  with 
earnestness,  exclaiming,  *  Let  us  set  out  with  him  immedi- 
ately.'  "  Men  in  all  ways  are  better  than  they  seem.  They 
like  flattery  for  the  moment,  but  they  know  the  truth  for 
their  own.  It  is  a  foolish  cowardice  which  keeps  us  from 
trusting  them,  and  speaking  to  them  rude  truth.  They  resent 
your  honesty  for  an  instant,  they  will  thank  you  for  it  »lwaJ^ 
What  is  it  we  heartly  wish  of  each  other  ?  Is  it  to  be  pleased 
and  flattered  ?  No,  but  to  be  convicted  and  exposed,  to  be 
shamed  out  of  our  nonsense  of  all  kinds,  and  made  men  of,  in- 
stead of  ghosts  and  phantoms.  We  are  weary  of  gliding 
ghostlike  through  the  world,  which  is  itself  so  slight  and  un. 
real.  We  crave  a  sense  of  reality,  though  it  come  in  strpkei 
of  pain.  I  explain  so,— by  this  manlike  love  of  truth,_-those 
excesses  and  errors  into  which  souls  of  great  vigor,  but  no* 


141  EMERSON'S  ES8A7& 

equal  insight,  often  fall.  They  feel  the  poverty  at  the  bottom 
of  all  the  seeming  affluence  of  the  world.  They  know  the 
speed  with  which  they  come  straight  through  the  thin  mag. 
querade,  and  conceive  a  disgust  at  the  indigence  of  nature: 
Rousseau,  Mirabeau,  Charles  Fox,  Napoleon,  Byron,— and  I 
could  easily  add  names  nearer  home,  of  raging  riders,  who 
drive  their  steeds  BO  hard,  in  the  violence  of  livir.g  to  forge's 
its  illusion:  they  would  know  the  worst,  and  tread  the  floor* 
of  hell.  The  heroes  of  ancient  and  modern  fame,  Cimoi^ 
Themistocles,  Alcibiades,  Alexander,  Caesar,  have  treated  life 
and  fortune  as  a  game  to  be  well  and  skilfully  played,  but  the 
stake  not  to  be  so  valued,  but  that  any  time,  it  could  be  held 
as  a  trifle  light  as  air,  and  thrown  up.  Caesar,  just  before  the 
battle  of  Pharsalia,  discourses  with  the  Egyptian  priest,  con- 
cerning  the  fountains  of  the  Nile,  and  offers  to  quit  the  army, 
the  empire,  and  Cleopatra,  if  he  will  show  him  those  mysteri- 
ous sources. 

The  same  magnanimity  shows  itself  in  our  social  relations, 
in  the  preference,  namely,  which  each  man  gives  to  the  society 
of  superiors  over  that  of  his  equals.  All  that  a  man  has,  will 
he  give  for  right  relations  with  his  mates.  All  that  he  has, 
will  he  give  for  an  erect  demeanor  in  every  company  and  on 
each  occasion.  He  aims  at  such  things  as  his  neighbors 
prize,  and  gives  his  days  and  nights,  his  talents  and  his  heart, 
to  strike  a  good  stroke,  to  acquit  himself  in  all  men's  sight  as 
a  man.  The  consideration  of  an  eminent  citizen,  of  a  noted 
merchant,  of  a  man  of  mark  in  his  profession  ;  naval  and  mil- 
itary honor,  a  general's  commission,  a  marshal's  baton,  a  ducal 
coronet,  the  laurel  of  poets,  and,  anyhow  procured,  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  eminent  merit,  have  this  lustre  for  each 
candidate,  that  they  enable  him  to  walk  erect  and  unashamed, 
in  the  presence  of  some  persons,  before  whom  he  felt  himself 
inferior.  Having  raised  himself  to  this  rank,  having  estab- 
lished his  equality  with  class  after  class,  of  those  with  whom 
he  would  live  well,  he  still  finds  certain  others,  before  whom 
he  cannot  possess  himself,  because  they  have  somewhat  fairer, 
somewhat  grander,  somewhat  purer,  which  extorts  homage  of 
him.  Is  his  ambition  pure?  then,  will  his  laurels  and  his 
possessions  seem  worthless :  instead  of  avoiding  these  men 
who  make  his  fine  gold  dim,  he  will  cast  all  behind  him,  and 
seek  their  society  only,  woo  and  embrace  this  his  humiliation 
and  mortification,  until  he  shall  know  why  his  eye  sinks,  big 
voice  is  husky,  and  his  brilliant  talents  are  paralyzed  in  this 
presence.  He  is  sure  that  the  soul  which  gives  the  lie  to  all 
things,  will  tell  none.  His  constitution  will  not  mislead  him. 


147 

It  it  cannot  carry  itself  as  it  ought,  high  ana  u_~iatchable  in 
the  presence  of  any  man,  if  the  secret  oracles  whose  whisper 
makes  the  sweetness  and  dignity  of  his  life,  do  here  withdraw 
and  accompany  him  no  longer,  it  is  time  to  undervalue  what 
he  has  valued,  to  dispossess  himself  of  what  he  has  acquired, 
and  with  Caesar  to  take  in  his  hand  the  army,  the  empire,  and 
Cleopatra,  and  say,  *  All  these  will  I  relinquish,  if  you  will 
show  me  the  fountains  of  the  Nile.'  Dear  to  us  are  those  who 
love  us,  the  swift  moments  we  spend  with  them  are  a  compen- 
sation for  a  great  deal  of  misery  ;  they  enlarge  oar  life ; — 
but  dearer  are  those  who  reject  us  as  unworthy,  for  they  add 
another  life  :  they  build  a  heaven  before  us,  whereof  we  had 
not  dreamed,  and  thereby  supply  to  us  new  powers  out  of  the 
recesses  of  the  spirit,  and  urge  us  to  new  and  unattempted 
performances. 

As  every  man  at  heart  wishes  the  best  and  not  inferior  so- 
ciety, wishes  to  be  convicted  of  hU  error,  and  to  come  to  him- 
self, so  he  wishes  that  the  same  healing  should  not  stop  in  his 
thought,  but  should  penetrate  his  will  or  active  power.  The 
selfish  man  suffers  more  from  his  selfishness,  than  he  from 
whom  that  selfishness  withholds  some  important  benefit. 
What  he  most  wishes  is  to  be  lifted  to  some  higher  platform, 
that  he  may  see  beyond  his  present  fear  the  transalpine  good, 
so  that  his  fear,  his  coldness,  his  custom  may  be  broken  up 
like  fragments  of  ice,  melted  and  carried  away  in  the  great 
stream  of  good  will.  Do  you  ask  my  aid  ?  I  also  wish  to  be 
a  benefactor.  I  wish  more  to  be  a  benefactor  and  servant, 
than  you  wish  to  be  served  by  me,  and  surely  the  greatest 
good  fortune  that  could  befall  me,  is  precisely  to  be  so  moved 
by  you  that  I  should  say, '  Take  me  and  all  mine,  and  use  me 
and  mine  freely  to  your  ends ! '  for,  I  could  not  say  it,  other- 
wise  than  because  a  great  enlargement  had  come  to  my  heart 
and  mind,  which  made  me  superior  to  my  fortunes.  Here  we 
are  paralyzed  with  fear  ;  we  hold  on  to  our  little  properties, 
house  and  land,  office  and  money,  for  the  .bread  which  they 
have  in  our  experience  yielded  us,  although  we  confess,  that 
our  being  does  not  flow  through  them.  We  desire  to  be  made 
great,  we  desire  to  be  touched  with  that  fire  which  srtiall  com 
mand  this  ice  to  stream,  and  make  our  existence  a  benefit.  If 
therefore  we  start  objections  to  your  project,  0  friend  of  the 
slave,  or  friend  of  the  poor,  or  of  the  race,  understand  well, 
that  it  is  because  we  wish  to  drive  you  to  drive  us  into  yonr 
measures.  We  wish  to  hear  ourselves  confuted.  We  are 
haunted  with  a  belief  that  you  have  a  secret,  which  it  would 
highliest  advantage  us  to  learn,  and  we  would  force  you  to 


!48  EMERSON1  S  ESSAYS. 

impart  it  to  us,  though  it  should  bring  us  to  prison,  or  to 
worse  extremity. 

Nothing  shall  warp  me  from  the  belief,  that  every  man  is  a 
lover  of  truth.  There  is  no  pure  lie,  no  pure  malignity 
in  nature.  The  entertainment  of  the  proposition  of  depravity 
is  the  last  profligacy  and  profanation.  There  is  no  skepticism, 
no  atheism  but  that.  Could  it  be  received  into  common  be- 
lief, suicide  would  unpeople  the  planet.  It  has  had  a  narae  to 
live  in  some  dogmatic  theology,  but  each  man's  innocence  and 
his  real  liking  of  his  neighbor,  have  kept  it  a  dead  letter.  I 
remember  standing  at  the  polls  one  day,  when  the  anger  of  the 
political  contest  gave  a  certain  grimness  to  the  faces  of  the 
independent  electors,  and  a  good  man  at  my  side  looking  om 
the  people,  remarked,  "  I  am  satisfied  that  the  largest  part  of 
these  men,  on  either  side,  mean  to  vote  right."  1  suppose, 
considerate  observers  looking  at  the  masses  of  men,  in  their 
.Cameless,  and  in  their  equivocal  actions,  will  assent,  that  in 
r.^ite  of  selfishness  and  frivolity,  the  general  purpose  in  the 
great  number  of  persons  is  fidelity.  The  reason  why  any  one 
refuses  his  assent  to  your  opinion,  or  his  aid  to  your  benevo- 
lent design,  is  in  you  :  he  refuses  to  accept  you  as  a  bringer  of 
truth,  because,  though  you  think  you  have  it,  he  feels  that 
you  have  it  not.  You  have  not  given  him  the  authentic  sign. 

If  it  were  worth  while  to  run  into  details  this  general  doc- 
trine of  the  latent  but  ever  soliciting  Spirit,  it  would  be  easy 
to  adduce  illustration  in  particulars  of  a  man's  equality  to  the 
church,  of  his  equality  to  the  state,  and  of  his  equality  to 
every  other  man.  It  is  yet  in  all  men's  memory,  that,  a  few 
years  ago,  the  liberal  churches  complained,  that  the  Calvinis- 
tic  church  denied  to  them  the  name  of  Christian.  I  think  the 
complaint  was  confession  :  a  religious  church  would  not  com* 
plain.  A  religious  man  like  Behmen,  Fox,  or  Swedenborg,  ia 
not  irritated  by  wanting  the  sanction  of  the  church,  but  the 
church  feels  the  accusation  of  his  presence  and  belief. 

It  only  needs,  that  a  just  man  should  walk  in  our  streets,  to 
make  it  appear  how  pitiful  and  inartificial  a  contrivance  is  out 
legislation.  The  man  whose  part  is  taken,  and  who  does  not 
wait  for  society  in  anything,  has  a  power  which  society  can- 
not  choose  but  feel.  The  familiar  experiment,  called  the 
hydrostatic  paradox,  in  which  a  capillary  column  of  water 
balances  the  ocean,  is  a  symbol  of  the  relation  of  one  man 
to  the  whole  family  of  men.  The  wise  Dandini,  on  hearing 
the  lives  of  Socrates,  Pythagoras,  and  Diogenes  read,  "judged 
them  to  be  great  men  every  way,  excepting,  that  they  were 
too  much  subjected  to  the  reverence  of  the  laws,  which  to 


NEW  ENGLAND  h&fORMERS.  149 

iecon  I  and  authorize,  true  virtue  must  abate  very  much  of  iti 
original  vigor." 

And  as  a  man  is  equal  to  the  church,  and  equal  to  the  state, 
10  he  is  equal  to  every  other  man.  The  disparities  of  power 
in  men  are  superficial ;  and  all  frank  and  searching  conversa- 
tion, in  which  a  man  lays  himself  open  to  his  brother,  apprizes 
each  of  their  radical  unity.  When  two  persons  sit  and  con- 
verse  in  a  thoroughly  good  understanding,  the  remark  is  sure 
to  be  made,  See  how  we  have  disputed  about  words  I  Let  a 
clear,  apprehensive  mind,  such  as  every  man  knows  among 
his  friends,  converse  with  the  most  commanding  poetic  genius, 
I  think,  it  would  appear  that  there  was  no  inequality  such  as 
men  fancy  between  them  ;  that  a  perfect  understanding,  a  like 
receiving,  a  like  perceiving,  abolished  differences,  and  the  poet 
would  confess,  that  his  creative  imagination  gave  him  no  deep 
advantage,  but  only  the  superficial  one,  that  he  could  express 
Wmself,  and  the  other  could  not ;  that  his  advantage  was  a 
tfnack,  which  might  impose  on  indolent  men,  but  could  not 
impose  on  lovers  of  truth  ;  for  they  know  the  tax  of  talent, 
or,  what  a  price  of  greatness  the  power  of  expression  too 
often  pays.  I  believe  it  is  the  conviction  of  the  purest  men, 
that  the  net  amount  of  man  and  man  does  not  much  vary. 
Each  is  incomparably  superior  to  his  companion  in  some 
faculty.  His  want  of  skill  in  other  directions,  has  added  to 
his  fitness  for  his  own  work.  Each  seems  to  have  some  com- 
pensation yielded  to  him  by  his  infirmity,  and  every  hindrance 
operates  as  a  concentration  of  his  force. 

These  and  the  like  experiences  intimate,  that  man  stands  in 
strict  connection  with  a  higher  fact  never  yet  manifested. 
There  is  power  over  and  behind  us,  and  we  are  the  chaniu  is 
of  its  communications.  We  seek  to  say  thus  and  so,  and  over 
our  head  some  spirit  sits,  which  contradicts  what  we  say. 
We  would  persuade  our  fellow  to  this  or  that;  another  self 
within  our  eyes  dissuades  him.  That  which  we  keep  back, 
this  reveals.  In  vain  we  compose  our  faces  and  our  words ;  it 
holds  uncontrollable  communication  with  the  enemy,  and  he 
answers  civilly  to  us,  but  believes  the  spirit.  We  exclaim, 
1  There's  a  traitor  in  the  house  ! '  but  at  last  it  appears  that 
he  is  the  true  man,  and  I  am  the  traitor.  This  open  channel 
to  the  highest  life  is  the  first  and  last  reality,  so  subtle,  so 
quiet,  yet  so  tenacious,  that  although  I  have  never  expressed 
the  truth,  and  although  I  have  never  heard  the  expression  of 
it  from  any  other,  I  know  that  the  whole  truth  is  here  for  me. 
What  if  I  cannot  answer  your  questions?  I  am  not  pained 
that  J  cannot  frame  a  repij  to  the  questionj  What  is  the  opew 


J5Q  EMERSON1 8  ESSAY& 

tion  we  call  Providence?  There  lies  the  unspoken  thing, 
present,  omnipresent.  Every  time  we  converse,  we  seek  to 
translate  it  into  speech,  but  whether  we  hit,  or  whether  we 
miss,  we  have  the  fact.  Every  discourse  is  an  approximate 
answer :  but  it  is  of  small  consequence,  that  we  do  not  get  \i 
into  verbs  and  nouns,  whilst  it  abides  for  contemplation  for- 
ever. 

If  the  auguries  of  the  prophesying  heart  shall  make  them 
selves  good  in  time,  the  man  who  shall  be  bom,  whose  advent 
men  and  events  prepare  and  foreshow,  is  one  who  shall  enjoy 
his  connection  with  a  higher  life,  with  the  man  within  man  . 
shall  destroy  distrust  by  his  trust,  shall  use  his  native  but 
forgotten  methods,  shall  not  take  counsel  of  flesh  and  blood, 
but  shall  rely  on  the  Law  alive  and  beautiful,  which  works 
over  our  heads  and  under  our  feet.  Pitiless,  it  avails  itself 
of  our  success,  when  we  obey  it,  and  of  our  ruin,  when  we 
contravene  it.  Men  are  all  secret  believers  in  it,  else,  the 
word  justice  would  have  no  meaning  :  they  believe  that  the  best 
is  the  true ;  that  right  is  done  at  last ;  or  chaos  would  come. 
It  rewards  actions  after  their  nature,  and  not  after  the  design 
of  the  agent.  *  Work,'  it  saith  to  man,  *  in  every  hour,  paid 
or  unpaid,  see  only  that  thou  work,  and  thou  canst  not  escape 
the  reward :  whether  thy  work  be  fine  or  coarse,  planting 
corn,  or  writing  epics,  so  only  it  be  honest  work,  done  to  thine 
own  approbation,  it  shall  earn  a  reward  to  the  senses  as  well 
as  to  the  thought :  no  matter,  how  often  defeated,  you  are 
born  to  victory.  The  reward  of  a  thing  well  done,  is  to  have 
done  it.' 

As  soon  as  a  man  is  wonted  to  look  beyond  surfaces,  and 
to  see  how  this  high  will  prevails  without  an  exception  or  an 
interval,  he  settles  himself  into  serenity.  He  can  already  rely 
on  the  laws  of  gravity,  that  every  stone  will  fall  where  it  is 
due ;  the  good  globe  is  faithful,  and  carries  us  securely 
through  the  celestial  spaces,  anxious  or  resigned  :  we  need  not 
interfere  to  help  it  on,  and  he  will  learn,  one  day,  the  mild  les- 
son they  teach,  that  our  own  orbit  is  all  our  task,  and  we  need 
not  assist  the  administration  of  the  universe.  Do  not  be  so 
impatient  to  set  the  town  right  concerning  the  unfounded  pre- 
tensions and  the  false  reputation  of  certain  men  of  standing. 
They  are  laboring  harder  to  set  the  town  right  concerning 
themselves,  and  will  certainly  succeed.  Suppress  for  a  few 
days  your  criticism  on  the  insufficiency  of  this  or  that  teacher 
or  experimenter,  and  he  will  have  demonstrated  this  insuf 
ficiency  to  all  men's  eyes.  In  like  manner,  let  a  man  fall  into 
the  divine  circuits,  and  he  is  enlarged.  Obedience  to  bit 


ENGLAND  REFORMERS.  Ifit 

genius  is  the  only  liberating  influence.  We  wish  to  escape 
from  subjection,  and  a  sense  of  inferiority, — and  we  make  self- 
denying  ordinances,  we  drink  water,  we  eat  grass,  we  refuse 
the  laws  we  go  to  jail :  it  is  all  in  vain  ;  only  by  obedience  to 
his  genius  ;  only  by  the  freest  activity  in  the  way  const  it  u- 
tional  to  him,  does  an  angel  seem  to  arise  before  a  man,  and 
lead  him  by  the  hand  out  of  all  the  wards  of  the  prison. 

That  which  befits  us,  embosomed  in  beauty  and  wonder  as 
we  are,  is  cheerfulness  and  courage,  and  the  endeavor  to  realize 
our  aspirations.  The  life  of  man  is  the  true  romance,  which, 
when  it  is  valiantly  conducted,  will  yield  the  imagination  a 
higher  joy  than  any  fiction.  All  around  us,  what  powers  are 
wrapped  up  under  the  coarse  mattings  of  custom,  and  all  won- 
der prevented.  It  is  so  wonderful  to  our  neurologists  that 
a  man  can  see  without  his  eyes,  that  it  does  not  occur  to  them, 
that  it  is  just  as  wonderful,  that  he  should  see  with  them  ;  and 
that  is  ever  the  difference  between  the  wise  and  the  unwise  : 
the  latter  wonders  at  what  is  unusual,  the  wise  man  wonders 
at  the  usual.  Shall  not  the  heart  which  has  received  so  much, 
trust  the  Power  by  which  it  lives  ?  May  it  not  quit  other 
headings,  and  listen  to  the  Soul  that  has  guided  it  so  gently, 
and  taught  it  so  much  «"»"-«»  that  the  future  will  be  w 
•i  the  past  ? 


V  o  V. 


O   T? 

*  5 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000  023  770     1 


